This week, I released my 25th individually-written book. It would be #29 if you include the shorts and anthologies I’ve taken part in. Not to toot my own horn, but that’s pretty crazy for only having started this writing journey in June of 2012.
Proving true to my ‘author without genre’ label, I’ve now written works in speculative, sci-fi, sci-fi romance, contemporary romance, romantic comedy, gay / lgbtq fiction and BDSM erotic romance. I have yet to find a genre I don’t like writing in, and I’ve enjoyed experimenting. A big thank you to all my readers, especially those who I’ve kept waiting on one genre series while I write in another for a while.
So, what’s next? While I can’t make any promises, because my Muse is sporadic to say the least, I’d like to let you know my plans. Some of you have contacted me asking when I’ll be getting back to Corwint, or The Stables or Celestial Seasons. I can’t express how much it means to me that you all care enough about these universes to ask when they’ll be getting their next story.
So, here’s the plan…
Tracking Down Travis is the first story available in 50 States of Gay VOL 1, OKLAHOMA, OH-GAY!
Reaching the top of the ridgeline, Cole pulled up the reins to stop his horse. Jenny gave an argumentative whinny, but slowed to a standstill as Cole’s eyes surveyed the horizon. With an annoyed huff, he took the piece of notebook paper out of his pocket and squinted at the illegibly scribbled handwriting. Then, he checked the GPS on his cellphone before glancing around again.
“Are you ready to bash some queers?!”
The question was met with boisterous cheers, rebuttals and thumps of hockey sticks against the bus floorboard. “Give them a good puck!”
“Slam them from behind!”
“Show those queens your penalty box!”
“Queens? This ain’t Disney on Ice!”
More laughter exploded from the back of the chartered Greyhound bus carrying the Ice Giants, one of eight teams in the New York City Gay Hockey Association. Yes, gay hockey. It’s a thing. And yes, I did a double-take, too, when I was sent by Channel Seven News to cover the NYCGA’s invitational fall season opener tournament in western New York.
But, here I am, on a bus headed to Niagara, because all the commercial planes have been grounded for some solar weather event that our meteorologist, Craig, was going mental over. Whatever. I won’t complain. I’m on a bus with twenty rowdy, athletic, gorgeously rugged, gay hockey players.
And they are gorgeous. But, I have to remain professional. My job is on the line if I ever want to get out of my internship and be taken seriously as a journalist.
Coming out of the barn and back into the sunlight, I lower the brim of my hat a bit to shield my eyes. What I see has me blinking at the sunbeams as my boots crunch against the gravel driveway. My pace slows, and all the men around me back off. They know I like to approach strangers the same way I approach new horses.
The man standing near the start of the ranch house’s parking lot is obviously out of place. He’s got on cargo pants with more pockets than I’ve ever seen, trekking sandals, and a grey t-shirt covered by a plaid, open-buttoned long-sleeved shirt with the tail untucked and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s also got a rolling suitcase and a black bag at his feet, and two fancy-looking cameras around his neck.
He looks like a tourist. As if to solidify that image in my head, he takes one of his cameras in hand and begins shooting pictures of the horses playing around near the fence. He’s so caught-up in taking pictures of my horses that he doesn’t pay my approach any mind until my shadow casts over his face.
And that face… He slowly lowers the camera and eyes me with bright hazel orbs set over a spattering of reddish-brown freckles that match his wavy, ginger hair. The black centers of his eyes dilate and he takes a slow step back. His ass hits the fence and his Adam’s apple bobs in a hard swallow.
I know I can be a bit intimidating at three inches over six feet, and none of it scrawny. I’m used to people making way or doing double-takes. But, there’s something different about the way this guy’s sizing me up than when other folks do it. Something… in his eyes, I think, that are staring at me as I stare at him and-
Uh-oh. I’ve been staring way too long, and so has he. Any fool can put one and one together and come out with the right answer.
Shit. This is the last thing I need right now…