Audio: The Jock Script by Lane Hayes

Title: The Jock Script

Series: The Script Club #3

Author: Lane Hayes

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Release Date: Sept. 24, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 250

Genre: Romance, Bisexual, Jock and Nerd, Romantic Comedy, Coming Out, Humor

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Synopsis

The nerd, the coach, and the hookup…

Asher-

Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left. Sure, the idea of a quick, no-strings intimate rendezvous via hookup app sounds oddly thrilling, but it’s simply not me. Or maybe it is me, because it happened…and I liked it. Until I realized he looked familiar for a reason. A bad reason. Now I’ve made a faux pas with the sexiest man on planet Earth, and my internal karma system requires me to fix it. Help!

Blake-

I may seem like I have it together, but the truth is, I’m a hot mess. I’m so deep in the closet that I can’t remember my real name some days. That’s okay. The benefit of one-night stands is anonymity. Until Asher. Not a total surprise. I’ve always had a thing for geeks, but I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s a pint-sized dynamo on a quest for perfection who can help me come out…if I follow his script.

Hmm. I’m in.

The Jock Script is an MM bisexual, geek/jock romance starring a bowtie wearing nerd, a sexy lacrosse coach, and a shenanigan inducing script!

Excerpt

Asher closed his mouth in a tight line and sighed. “We should change the topic. Every time I’m with you, I secure my spot in Hades.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “What’s with you and the guilty conscience? I admire your commitment to honesty, Ash, but I don’t think it’s healthy to punish yourself after the fact. Not to mention, your rules seem arbitrary. They don’t make sense.”

“Sure, they do.”

“Hmph. You say sex is a part of nature, and you’re happy to discuss it until your internal sex-o-meter overloads and you decide you’ve overstepped some invisible boundary. It’s like you want to punish yourself for no good reason.”

Asher opened and closed his mouth. “I don’t do that.”

I polished off my salad, pushed my plate aside, and reached for my wineglass. “Yeah, you do. You should give yourself a break once in a while.”

“Says the devil incarnate.”

“Who me?” I flashed a roguish grin. “I’m not so bad, and you don’t have to be so good. Is this the remnants of a super religious upbringing or—”

“Oh, gosh, no. My mother is a hippie. She’s not judgmental at all.”

“Then why—”

“I’m just weird, Blake.”

His tone was firm rather than sharp and sent a strong message that he’d prefer to drop the subject. In fact, he looked suspiciously eager to greet the waiter when he returned to clear our salad dishes and set dinner plates on the table. I observed his animated hand gestures, his starched collar, and perfectly straight bow tie, wondering what he was hiding under all that armor.

Asher wasn’t weird, he was—okay, fine…he was totally weird. But I had a feeling he was compensating too. Making up for something or glossing over an unseen flaw. Sort of like a kid standing guard over a lamp he’d busted by accident. No one would notice as long as he made sure the unblemished side was never shown.

Call me crazy, but that got me. Yes, I was very attracted to him and definitely wanted to get naked and horizontal with him ASAP. But I wanted to know him too. I wanted to peel away his protective layers and study his quirks. His internal system of checks and balances fascinated me.

I twirled my fork around my pasta and smiled. “You know, I’m no devil and anyone who sucks dick like you cannot be an angel. There’s got to be a good middle ground for us.”

“Yes. As friends.”

“Right,” I agreed, shifting in my seat to adjust my cock when he hummed around a mouthful of pasta. No joke, my dick woke up at the mention of alien sex and was now stretching the seam of my zipper. I sipped my wine and willed my body to get the “friend” memo. “So, buddy…since we’re supposed to be spending time together now, I think you should come to my game next weekend.”

“Game,” he repeated, drawing out the single syllable into two. “The one you coach? Or do you play also?”

“I play with a club team, but our season ended a couple of weeks ago. We’re on a break till summer, which is fine ’cause my kids have finals and my girls’ team is in the last stretch before CIFs.”

“I don’t understand that acronym, but I’ll come to your game and maybe afterward we can do power tool…things.”

“Sounds like a date. The game is at ten at Westgate. I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay. I have questions, like…where do I sit and what should I wear? Also, what are the rules?”

I smiled. “Sit wherever you want and wear whatever you want. The idea is to have fun. Well…and to kick OC Lutheran’s ass. As for the rules…the goal is to put the ball in the net more times than our opponent. You’ll be able to follow along.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I’ll do some research. Now, what about us? Do you want me to be there and not speak or…are you going to introduce me? And if so, what will you say? I need to rehearse my lines.”

“Lines? This isn’t a play, Ash. We’re friends.”

“No, we’re not. We hardly know each other.”

I frowned. “Then we need to fix that ’cause I’m going to introduce you as my friend. It’s less complicated that way.”

“And if someone asks where we met, I’m allowed to improvise, correct?” he teased. taking a big bite of pasta.

Too big of a bite. He slurped a rogue piece of tagliatelle with wide eyes, then covered his mouth with his napkin. It was pretty freaking cute. I pointed at the sauce on his cheek.

When he swiped at the wrong side, I hooked my finger and motioned for him to lean in. I wiped his cheek with my thumb, underestimating the intimacy of the gesture. The strong current of heat and desire sizzling between us threw me off guard, rendering me speechless.

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes loves a good romance! An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and were winners in the 2016, 2017, and 2018-2019 Rainbow Awards. She loves red wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in a not quite empty nest.

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A Sacrament of Sin by Matthew Angelo

Title: A Sacrament of Sin

Series: The Midnight Agency #4

Author: Matthew Angelo

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: October 15th, 2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 30k

Genre: Fantasy, Horror, Science Fiction, Paranormal, shifter, urban fantasy

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Synopsis

Working as a paranormal private investigator has its trials. I’m busy, which is excellent, but there are more people, alive and otherwise, after me than ever before. The Other Side has stepped up their game. The Fallen are trying to strong-arm me into joining their ranks; they feel I’m the perfect person to aid in their eventual rise to world power, and they don’t give a damn what I have to say about it. Then there’s the Catholic Church. Apparently, they’ve painted a giant bullseye on my back. That keeps you looking over your shoulder, I’ll tell you.

Oh, and did I mention the bastard who abandoned my mother and me when I was born wants to repair a relationship we never had in the first place?

Just another day in the life of Rian MacCaren—that’s me, by the way. I solve mysteries, and I see things… things other people don’t. First, dreams plagued me. Now they’ve escalated to visions. Aside from keeping myself alive, my next step is to use my gift, or curse however you want to look at it, to figure out who killed the woman we just discovered in the basement of an abandoned house. Who was she, and why is she dressed in a wedding gown?

Excerpt

I heard laughter from the other side of the screen. It wasn’t the kind that speaks of madness, but the evil supervillain type. While I love the sound of truth, this sound chilled me to the bones and left me unclean.

“Sister Catherine…I should’ve known. As for you, my little angel, I’ll send you back to heaven.”

“Not today, buddy.”

A ripping sound hit my ears as a clawed hand burst through the screen and wrapped around my neck. It pulled me through the wall that divided the confessional. I tried to struggle out of its grip, but the preacher held on for all he’s worth. Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.

I kicked at his face in the hope he’d release his hold over my throat. “Sorry, but choking isn’t my thing.”

The priest slammed me against the wall, knocking what air I did have out of my lungs in one exhale. I switched the safety off my gun and tried to raise it. Let me tell you that trying to fight for your life while being choked wasn’t that easy. I tried, though. Look at me being all optimistic and shit.

The father saw the gun. His eyes widened in anger as if the weapon was an insult to the sanctuary of the church. I may have had a gun, but I wasn’t a pedophile molesting kids and stealing their life force from them. Nope, I was a simple angel trying to get by in the world. By get by, I mean shoot the bad guy and rescue the children, thereby being the hero that saves the day.

Whoever the priest had become gripped me harder and threw me through the confessional door with one movement. The cracking of the wood against my back hurt, and the sound of screaming reached my ears. What hurt the most was hitting the floor and sliding across the carpet. I also heard the sound of my gun as it fell from my hand, bumping into something.

Movement from in front of me caught my attention. I attempted to get up, but the ceiling above me spun like a top, and vertigo kept me from moving too much. Massaging my neck, I could breathe easier, but the joy of still being alive didn’t last long.

There he stood. The possessed priest looked like a devil out of a bad CW series. Both his arms stretched longer than natural and ended in clawed, veiny hands. The skin on his face looked tighter and a bit like leather. The look someone gets after they tan in one of those cancer coffins too long.

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Meet the Author

Matthew Angelo is a part-time writer, dog trainer, and photo enthusiast in the Northern Colorado area. In his free time, providing he has any, he practices Krav Maga, reads, and continues writing. He has written fantasy, science fiction, and urban fantasy stories amongst others.

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Indigo Cover Reveal: Ice Angels by Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood

Ice Angels

By Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood

Cover Created by : Cate Ashwood

Release Date: Oct 29th 2021

Available to Preorder at Amazon

Drew and Cleevs love hockey, but they love each other more. How can the men find a way to save what matters most?

Todd Cleever and Drew Simon are crazy about each other. They started dating three years ago when “Cleevs” was a rookie defenseman for the Chicago Ice. Drew, the team’s captain, was a few years older than Cleevs. Both men were deep in the closet, but it didn’t take long for them to fall in love.

Cleevs was traded to the Bethesda Barracudas a year later, causing a heartbreaking separation. Ever since, they’ve skated around the problem with occasional stolen nights together and brief vacations under the guise of “friends,” but two years of living apart have taken their toll.

As the holiday approaches, Drew and Cleevs decide things have to change. Still, with their careers and two professional hockey teams in the way, how can they score the game-winning goal and save everything they cherish most?

If you like fierce love, a smallish age gap, exciting hockey, and a steely determination to make things work—not to mention enough steam to fog up all your windows and a fantastic HEA—this is the book for you. The novella contains about 43,000 words of sparkling holiday romance.

About the Authors

Ryan Taylor and Joshua Harwood met in law school and were married in 2017. They live in a suburb of Washington, DC and share their home with a big, cuddly German shepherd. Ryan and Josh enjoy travel, friends, and advocating for causes dear to their hearts. Ryan also loves to swim, and Josh likes to putter in the garden whenever he can. The romance they were so lucky to find with each other inspires their stories about love between out and proud men.

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Indigo Release Blitz: Ground Resurrection by Mell Eight

Title: Ground of Resurrection

Series: Wizard Wars, Book Two

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/11/2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 21900

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, anthropomorphic, farming, gods, immortal, magic-users, royalty

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Description

Dare used to be the kind of person everyone wanted to be around, the man friends begged to attend their events and relished in his company. However, that was when he was a prince. Now that he’s been captured and confined to the prairie, he’s become the person everyone hates, and it’s a hate he believes he deserves.

But he can’t help hoping he might find at least one friend.

Magic has a convoluted way of answering wishes, and unfortunately, the answer to Dare’s wish might destroy the prairie and every last thing he still holds dear.

Excerpt

Ground of Resurrection
Mell Eight © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Dare hadn’t been given a choice about living on the prairie, but he was doing his best to embrace the life he had. Admittedly, he admired the way of life the villages had created over the last ten years he had been living among them, traveling from village to village. They had grown from separate entities to a cohesive whole that worked together to ensure their survival on the harsh prairie. His life now was completely different from his pampered childhood.

Oakville was the only village on the prairie with access to a forest. The trees were tall and stately and had a nasty habit of lifting their roots out of the ground to trip people as they were walking by. Over the last three weeks, while visiting Oakville, Dare learned to automatically raise his feet high as he walked so he didn’t faceplant.

The villagers were only allowed to cut down a few trees a week with the permission of the prairie. Dare had become part of a very convoluted dance. Every spring, the villagers collected seedlings that had been blown out onto the prairie the previous fall. Those seedlings wouldn’t survive the summer buried underneath the tall grass. Then, before chopping down anything in the forest, the villagers asked the prairie which trees were suitable. Cutting the trees could be harrowing in a forest that had been known to fight back on occasion. The villagers planted one of the seedlings where each old tree used to stand, where they would grow to replace the trees the villagers took.

All the cut wood was eventually distributed throughout the villages in the prairie so they could continue building whatever new homes and businesses they needed. In return, Laketown and Farmtown sent the food they produced. Every village had a purpose on the prairie; as long as Oakville continued to send wood out to the other villages, they would in turn receive the things they needed.

If only the villagers had chosen to be equally pragmatic about Dare’s presence.

“Here’s the rations you worked for,” Olaf said as he ambled into the cleared area. He was careful not to step on any of the seedlings Dare had just planted. Dare took the bag Olaf was holding out to him. A quick glance inside showed a large loaf of bread, a smaller wheel of cheese, and some leafy green things poking out below that.

Dare wasn’t surprised there wasn’t any meat in the bag. Livestock were needed to pull the heavy trees; there weren’t any whose meat could be sacrificed for food. A new village was in the process of being constructed where all sorts of livestock—oxen for the plows and wagons, chickens for eggs, cows and goats for milk and cheese, and sheep for wool—would be kept. With an active surplus from that village being sent out to all the villages, more animals could be used solely for the meat. Until then, Dare and the rest of the villagers lived on a vegetarian diet.

“I was hoping to spend the night and leave in the morning,” Dare began but stopped when Olaf shook his head in denial.

“It’s past time for you to move on to another village, boy,” Olaf said firmly. He turned and walked away, leaving Dare alone in the forest. The rest of the people he had been working with had snuck off while Olaf was talking.

Dare let out a heavy sigh. He would never get used to this. The feelings of abandonment, the churning in his stomach, and the tightness in his chest every time he thought he might be welcomed but was sent away instead. It hurt so very much, but at least he had learned not to cry about it.

Of course, he understood why. He had been a terrible little shit his first year on the prairie. He may have been eighteen years old at the time, but the way he had acted, he might as well have been a child. He had somehow managed to grow up during the last ten years, but the damage had already been done.

Dare was a prisoner of war. Before that, he had lived a life of luxury with his every want and need catered for him. As the prince and heir of the throne of Ammet, the kingdom to the north of the prairie lands, he had been spoiled horribly. Political machinations by the Wizard’s Council that helped rule Ammet had convinced King Mitchell, Dare’s father, to include Dare with the invading troops sent to subdue the prairie. The invasion had failed with terrible consequences. Nearly a thousand men and women had been eaten by the prairie, but Dare had been saved to be a pawn in his uncle Russell’s revenge plan and abandoned in First Village.

Going from luxury to learning how to earn rations had been completely lost on him. When food wasn’t delivered at regular mealtimes, he had thrown tantrum after tantrum until he’d almost starved to death. George, the leader of First Village, had literally tied him to a chair and spoon-fed him soup until Dare recovered. Then George had put a small, palm-sized basket, woven from thick grass, into Dare’s hands and told Dare to fill the basket with precious stones. One full basket meant three meals each day.

Dare had done it, not realizing that leaving the village to walk in the wild prairie was one of the most dangerous jobs in the entire village. He had gotten food and he had watched and learned the way the village worked. Everyone had a task to accomplish each day to earn their keep. No one, George included, was simply given anything for free.

Learning the ways of the prairie was a painfully slow process, but Dare had eventually done it. His airs and spoiled attitude had taken years to throw away. He had felt freer ever since, but by the time the lessons had hit home, it was far too late for him to be accepted. His poor behavior early on had ensured that.

The younger kids in First Village used to dare each other who could prank Dare the worst. Stealing his clothes on washing day and forcing him to return to the village naked. Running into him when he had a full basket, often stealing the basket and the gemstones he had filled it with and ensuring he wasn’t eligible for food the next day. Eventually, they had grown in both age and ability, and Dare had to learn how to defend himself against knife attacks. The dares grew worse and worse until Dare had fled from First Village in desperation.

Yet, the stories of his terrible attitude had spread. He took a new name—he was no longer Prince Michael, even in his own mind, and calling himself Dare seemed poignant after all he had suffered—but people still knew him regardless of what he called himself. He traveled from village to village, staying in each one for only as long as his extra pair of hands and strong back were useful, until he was sent on his way again. After five years living in First Village and five years wandering, Dare wasn’t welcome anywhere.

If Dare had thought he could survive on his own, he would have abandoned the villages well before now, striking out into the prairie, but there was no food in the prairie, so he needed the villages.

Well, Dare thought firmly to himself as he tucked his bag of food into his pack with his other personal belongings. That’s life now. Where should I go next? He pulled his sword belt down from the low branch he had hung it on that morning and settled it into place around his hips. The last vestiges of his previous life hung in his sword. He wasn’t trained to use a knife, and his magic wasn’t offensive in nature, only defensive: a sword kept him safe so Dare held on to it.

He hadn’t been east in a while. Over a year had passed since he had last worked for a few short weeks at the village near the Great Bone Canyon. Hopefully, they would be ready to stomach having him nearby for a while again.

Dare took a deep breath, then turned so his back was to the setting sun and started walking

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Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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Indigo Release Blitz: Far From Home by Vincent Raughber Meis

Title: Far from Home

Author: Vincent Traughber Meis

Publisher:NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/11/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: No Romance, Male/Male, Female/Female

Length: 62800

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Age-gap, Athlete, Gender-bending, Illness/disease, In the closet, Interracial, Intercultural, Medical personnel, Political, Psychic ability, Pandemic, Teaching, Travel, UST

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Description

Far from Home is a collection of twelve short stories, taking the reader on a journey from the desert sands of the Middle East to a forbidden Caribbean island, and many points in between.

Though two of the stories are set in the U.S., others find gay people dealing with gayness in Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Spain, Turkey, Cuba, Mexico, and the Netherlands, places where the characters are physically and psychologically far from the comfort of home. Most of the stories focus on Gay men suffering alienation, confusion, violence, and loss in the eternal search for love while they travel or live in other cultures.

The overall focus is on LGBTQ people as they venture out into the world.

Excerpt

Far From Home
Vincent Traughber Meis© 2021
All Rights Reserved

It’s a coffee-colored afternoon: thick, murky, unsweetened, bitter, poured in a long stream from a dallah, hot but cooling rapidly. The air is the color of cardamom seeds, their skin, their eyes. This time of day the same dull brown coats the inside of his head after a rising time of 4:30 a.m., fumbling in darkness to strangle the alarm. He sees the days, weeks, months stretched out in front of him, a path paved in riyals, leading him through the wan desert and, he hopes, toward an oasis. Or is it only a mirage? How much longer does he have to be in the Kingdom? He glances at his watch, calculating the amount of money he has made in the last hour, a pittance compared to the CEO of the international company he works for, though for him and his pre-Saudi life, a fortune.

A thunderstorm that morning flashed out of the murky sky, pummeling this flat wide expanse of beach with a long rain. Rainstorms in the desert are a new phenomenon for him. For days a ceiling has pressed down lower and lower, alternately dropping and holding back its holy water, instantly sullied by its touching of the land. A chain of dirty puddles formed upon a resistant ground, hurrying to stagnation, calling mosquitoes to come perform their pagan rituals of breeding. Garbage, carried by the wind, strewn across the sand, has summoned flies and maggot producers of all types. He steps gingerly toward the sea, avoiding broken bottles and rusting cans, happily less vulnerable in his sneakers than the Saudis in their sandals.

His eyes squint against the gritty air, and pluck from this soiled landscape a man of fine features, an apparition, his white shalwar kameez fluttering in the breeze, bushy dark hair uncovered, not Saudi, Urdu speaker most likely by his attire. But he is real. His beckoning smile cleans the air and calms the American’s rancor, transforming it to the far more dangerous trap of desire. What had he been angry about? He doesn’t remember. No doubt a minor annoyance due to an inexplicable part of his host country’s culture.

“Hello,” the man says, tugging lightly on his thick mustache. “Where you from?”

“American, and you?”

“Pakistani. I am Adil.”

They shake hands. “I’m Mark.”

Adil releases his hand and touches his heart. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a beguiling accent. The sun attempts to burn its way through the cloud cover, but the Pakistani’s black eyes are already shining, providing light. “What you do?”

“Just walking.”

“Me, too. Watch out.” He points out a piece of glass. He’s wearing dressy black boots. “My day off I come here to visit friends.”

“From where?”

“Jubail. I work there. And you?”

“I’m at the Navy base. I teach English.”

“Oh, maybe you help me with my English.” Eyebrows rise high above his smile, white teeth, suggesting an exchange of some sort. “We go have coffee?”

“Yes, but please, no Arabic coffee.”

“Ha ha. Maybe you like it sweet.”

They walk back to the corniche and cross to the shopping center on the other side. Just inside the entrance to the bustling center with a lofty roof of skylights is a café, tables between planters filled with lush plastic plants. They order cappuccinos and sit in the male section separated from the smaller family section where several women sit, black shadows of human form you can see through the latticework dividers if you are so inclined.

Adil glances toward the family section. “Are you married?”

It is always one of the first questions. Trick question. Mark wonders what the correct answer is. He can say he was, but he’s divorced now. Or never married. He decides on a simple no. “And you?”

“Not yet. I work here to finish my contract, then I go back and get married.” He shows his pearly white teeth again. He’s old enough to have crow’s feet, a few strands of gray in his hair. He wears the kameez open halfway down, his hairy chest peeking above his tank top.

A man in Western clothes, Mediterranean looks, passes by, looks up, and shouts an angry threat. The pigeon takes flight as do several others who have been cooing on the rafters. The man goes to the counter and asks for a napkin, brushes his shoulder. Adil laughs. “Maybe is good luck for him,” Adil says. “Let’s go for a drive. Prayer call is coming.”

“You have a car?”

“Yes. You surprised?”

“No. That’s cool.” Mark, despite being much higher in the hierarchy of foreign workers, relies on public transportation. As they exit, Adil puts his hand lightly on Mark’s lower back, entreating him to go first out of the cool into heat. The sun has made a brief appearance but is dropping behind the layer of haze, perpetually lounging on the horizon. They walk side by side. High in the minaret a speaker crackles and a voice begins. It is the Asr prayer call.

“You don’t go to the mosque?”

Adil turns to Mark with a smirk. “Not today.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I meet a new friend.”

Movement surrounds them as shops close. Screeching metal doors slide down tight tracks cutting through the damp air, sounding like screams until they are drowned by the sudden shot-like explosion of the fully extended doors striking the pavement. From across the street comes the clang of gates brought together and the eerie rattle of a chain joining them in a clumsy embrace. The sounds echo up and down the block as a car speeds by on the corniche, honking at each intersection sending shadowy figures scurrying, gripping more tightly the plastic shopping bags dangling from their wrists. Men duck into cars and alleys as the scarves on their heads flap with the sudden haste.

“Come on,” says Adil as he picks up the pace, and a short time later stops at a car. “Ta da!” It is not pretty. The white Nissan is several years old and suffering from the sea air. “This is my baby. Don’t laugh.”

They get on the road out into the desert. Mark has no idea where they’re going or if he’ll ever make it back, something he tries not to think about as he sits in the death seat with a mad Pakistani at the wheel. Adil reaches over and opens the glove compartment. “Look in there. Poems I wrote. Go ahead. Look.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Vincent Traughber Meis started writing plays as a child in the Midwest and cajoled his sisters to act in performing them for neighbors. In high school, one of his short stories won a local contest sponsored by the newspaper. After graduating from college, he worked on a number of short stories and began his first novel. In the 1980’s and 90’s he published a number of pieces, mostly travel articles in publications such as, The Advocate, LA Weekly, In Style, and Our World. His travels have inspired his five novels, all set at least partially in foreign countries: Eddie’s Desert Rose (2011), Tio Jorge (2012), and Down in Cuba (2013), Deluge (2016) and Four Calling Burds (2019). Tio Jorge received a Rainbow Award in the category of Bisexual Fiction in 2012. Down in Cuba received two Rainbow Awards in 2013. Recently stories have been published in three collections: WITH:New Gay Fiction, Best Gay Erotica Vol 1 and Best Gay Erotica Vol 4. He lives in San Leandro, CA with his husband.

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