New Story: The Boys of Pleasure
I woke up this morning and found out I have a short story for sale! With pictures in it!
This one is from Syzygy Magazine, which is very new, and the magazine part proper isn’t out yet, I don’t think. They do have several other stories available, though, one of which is free!
Here’s the blurb for mine. (Well, there’s one on the site, but mine is longer, so we’ll post that one here, and you can go read the short one too if you want): Sid’s done with one night stands and the heartache they bring, and he’s not going to let the rocky patch that moving in with his good-boy boyfriend has brought throw him from his goal of making a long-term relationship work. But when a night’s respite at a local club has a hip-swinging, sexy Irish folk guitarist winking at him from the stage and buying him drinks, Sid’s resolve is tested. He knows he should find comfort and safety in settling down. But when bad boy Doug is so determined to seduce him, it’s hard to remember that a lifetime of compromise really is better than one incredible night of pleasure.
Excerpt… oh, hey! I don’t have one. We’ll do a blog exclusive if I can hunt it down. Hmm.
I found it! And I’ll post a few photos too.
When Sid Hoyt came back to his table, there were two drinks waiting for him: a gin and tonic, and a shot of whiskey. Sid, who didn’t remember ordering them, frowned at Livvy, who shook her head and pointed at the stage, where the band had started up again. An Irish flute was trilling, a fiddle was wailing, and drums were thumping. And in the middle of them was a guitarist, who, when he caught Sid looking at him, winked.
So they were from him.
Sid sat down and glared at Livvy.
Livvy folded her arms in front of her chest. "Hey. You asked me to take you out, and I did. It’s not my fault if a guy wants to send you drinks."
"I wanted a night to clear my head." He dismissed the drinks in front of him with an angry wave of his hand. "I didn’t want to get flirted with by a saucy Irish musician."
"Then you probably shouldn’t have spent the whole first set staring at him," Livvy said.
Yes, that was the problem.
The band was called "The Boys of Pleasure," but they should have been named "The Collective of Sin." Their music swept Sid up like a storm of sound. It made his toe tap and his body sway in his chair in time to its pulse. It was wild, and it was driving. And the guitarist was irresistible.
The musician stood tall and slim and handsome, and he stole the show. The others stayed put, but the guitarist wandered all over the stage, wiggling his hips and bobbing to the beat, winding his cord around speakers and microphone stands until the stage hand had to rush out and undo his damage. He was so over the top that Sid didn’t know how anyone could not stare at him.
"He came to the table while you were gone, and brought those." Livvy nodded to the drinks. "He was disappointed when you didn’t appear."
"Did you tell him I was living with someone?" The guilty way she bit her lip told him all he needed to know. "Livvy!" Sid sank back in his chair.
She shook her head. "You were right not to go with Mike this weekend. I’ve heard you two fighting when he drops you off from lunch. The whole library has."
Livvy nodded at the stage. "There’s no harm in a little flirting. It’s good for the soul."
"Yes, and it tends to lead to sex," Sid snapped.
"I just need some time to adjust to the changes that come with living together," Sid said. "I want to take this seriously."
Livvy rolled her eyes. "Bullshit. You just don’t want to fail again."
"Is that so wrong?"
"Yes, if you’re only staying with Mike so you can say that. Do you even love him, Sid?"
Sid glared at her. "Of course I do!"
"What do you love about him, Sid?"
Sid faltered. "I—-I love him. I love . . . his . . . personality." Livvy snorted, and Sid folded his arms over his chest. "Well? What do you expect, when you put me on the spot like that?"
"I expect more than that, especially when I put you on the spot. But it’s your life. You want to throw it away, go ahead." Livvy pushed her chair back and rose.
Sid did, too. "Where are you going?"
"Home. I got a text while you were out; my roommate’s blind date went horribly wrong." She slid her purse over her shoulder, then came behind Sid and pushed him back into his seat. "You, however, will stay. And you will drink. And when the show is over and the guitarist comes, you will say thank you. The rest I leave to your discretion, or lack thereof." She kissed him on the cheek. "Good-night, Sid." She left.
The song ended, and the audience clapped, but Sid was frozen, Livvy’s accusations ringing in his ears.
The guitarist as he leaned over the mic and introduced the next song with a wicked burr. "Here’s something with a bit of extra spice." He beamed at the audience, then turned and looked directly at Sid. "This one is called ‘Sweet Seduction.’"
He kept staring as the song started, making Sid’s blood start to hum. This was turning into another one of Sid’s Bad Choices. This was the Rose Festival all over again. And New Year’s Eve. And Pride 2008. This was someone hot and new and interesting who would give him a great night in bed then never call him again. This was why he had dated Mike, why he’d let him move in, and why Sid tried so hard not to fight with him.
But Mike never looks at me like this guitarist is looking at me right now.
Sid’s hands curled on the table as the guitarist continued to look right at Sid as he played, as if the rest of the room weren’t even there. The music swirled around Sid and pinned him to his chair and pounded at his chest.
Sid did love Mike. He did. He loved that they were living together, that there was someone to cook for. He loved the way they watched TV together. He loved lunches together. He loved . . . he loved . . .
The guitarist shut his eyes, leaned forward, and swung his hips to the beat.
Oh god, he loved that.
(Want to finish the story? Yes, sorry. Have to click here and have plastic.)