Book Name: 6 Days to Valentine
Release Date: January, 2014
Pages or Words: 24,000 words
Categories: Contemporary, Gay Fiction, Humor, M/M Romance, Romance
Publisher: Wilde City Press
Cover Artist: Adrian Nicholas
In Nick’s perfect world, Valentine’s Day would be struck from the calendar.
Nick’s dreams of a Happily Ever After were shredded long ago and the last thing he and his customers need is a bunch of happy loving couples rubbing it in their faces.
Bouncer Fat Boy Newman is willing to bet he knows Nick’s heart better than he does. He has just six days to change Nick’s mind about romance and the holiday and the perfect man to do it.
Too bad it’s not him.
Too bad Nick’s not going down without a fight.
Too bad he cheats.
I looked again at the stunned blond sprawled at my feet. From this angle, he might be considered cute, certainly the butt in his jeans was worth exploring further, but for some reason, it was his cap that caught my eye. I could see part of a logo from one of those Texas schools—the one with the horns. Reaching down, I hooked it with my finger. I held it up so I could see it clearly, though it was hard to mistake the long white horns stretching across the front of the orangey wool.
Hmm, old-style baseball cap. I peered inside and checked out the underside of the brim, looking for his name. Someone had signed it in black ink, but it was worn and smeared in places, making it barely legible. Given the fading and the stains on the sweatband, it hadn’t been new in a very long time. Certainly not when this guy was in school.
“My hat. Please.” A soft drawl and a hand moving into my line of sight distracted me. It’s possible, though unlikely, that I missed him waving up at me; I’d had quite a late night, after all. I think, instead, that my brain froze the second he pushed himself into the cobra pose and looked deep into my eyes.
I hadn’t gotten much sleep after leaving the bar in the early hours of the morning. I’d walked around the neighborhood, halfway hoping I’d get rolled by a drunk or knifed in an alley. It was a thoroughly depressing failure. I was still there, still intact, and still feeling guilty as hell, all of which pissed me off to no end. Even worse, everyone I’d seen since entering the bar had congratulated me on my win, while FatBoy was doing a spectacular job of avoiding me.
I sat still, considering the blue depths, the straight nose, the plump pink lips, the strawberry locks curling over his ears. Then FatBoy finally decided to make an appearance, jerking the man up by his pits and dangling him in front of me like a rag doll.
Surprising as the maneuver was, it did have the added benefit of shaking his limbs out so I could get a nice long look at the whole…package.
“Ever hear of picking up after yourself?” FatBoy growled his exaggerated drawl at me. I guess that answered the question of whether or not FatBoy was still mad.
“Yeah…no…” I muttered, thinking about the wrongness of the whole thing and absently fondling the cow head on the front of the hat, forgetting what I’d been asked just a moment before.
“What the hell?” the blond jerked away from our bouncer, grabbing his hat and inadvertently catching my pinky in the adjustable strap.
“Yow!” Fuck that hurt. I shoved my finger in my mouth, sucking furiously where part of the nail was now missing.
“Shit, sorry, man. You just…” The blond trailed off as he fixed his attention on the hand now shoved between my lips. You’d think he’d never seen a man suck on anything before.
I might have answered him, but I’d hopped off my stool and was now too busy brushing bar floor debris off the front of his well-formed chest. My hand slid down the front of him until fingers gripped my wrist tightly just as I was getting to the fun parts, freezing my hand in place at his waist.
“My name’s Cameron.” It was a perfectly reasonable answer to an obvious question that I hadn’t asked. He removed my hand from his body before stepping out of my personal space to sit. I wanted to follow, but in a rare show of restraint, I chose leaning against the bar two stools down.
God, I need a drink. And a bed. And a man. And a way to go back through time.
Hell—two out of four ain’t bad. Well, more likely one out of four, which sucked, and my night was going to get worse…
When Rachel came in, she was going to skin me and make rainbow boots out of my hide. The story was already making the rounds, and my act of treachery, while still hidden, was lying like a dead skunk, stinking up the air between FatBoy and me.
I was waiting for inspiration to strike, gifting me with the perfect pickup line—the dazzler that would have my tongue in Cameron’s mouth and his beautiful golden body pressed up against the wall in the supply room with enough time before I had to officially clock in for work.
Apparently not. All I was hearing from the celestial chorus was the sound of crickets. I went with the old standby and introduced myself. “I’m Nick.”
I must have been grinning like an idiot. I could feel my cheeks begin to ache, and my palms developed an unexpected dampness. Rubbing them hastily against my soft denims, I reached across to him and held out my hand.
“Call me Cam.” He smiled. Sweet Jesus, it was a beauty of a smile, and I felt my cock begin to fill. Dammit. The lunch bartender chose that moment to lean over and smirk at me.
“Soooo, Niiiiiick…who’s your friennnnd?” Christine made a decent margarita and a top-notch Bloody Mary of her own special recipe, but her gaydar was broken. Anyone could tell that this sweet angel of the south was 100% boy meat.
“Ma’am! Cameron Fielding at your service.”
I was stunned as I watched my morsel of seraphic delectability stand and doff his cap, and felt a shiver run up my spine. It seemed to be in a race with the tightening of my jeans and the galloping of my heart, and I had a sudden irrational urge to pull him closer and sniff his hair. And maybe touch it.
What the hell?
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Tour Dates & Stops: February 12, 2016
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