WIP Wednesday: Up in the air with The Boyfriend

Photo credit: Peter Lee

A while back I introduced a snippet of The Boyfriend (which is a working title, terrible yet descriptive enough for me to keep it straight in my head with my other WIPs), and since it's what I've been working on in between edits for Some Assembly Required and Talk Turkey (and galleys for King of the Kitchen), I figured I'd post more from it this week.

In the first snippet I shared, we meet Crawford, a successful executive with an international hotel chain who married (and later divorced) a colleague who he now has to work closely with on a trip overseas. Today you get to meet Mateus, a Portuguese national in the States on a temporary visa.

This is their first meeting as they board a plane for Vancouver.

---

The man gave Mateus an expectant look, and it took a beat for Mateus to realize he was waiting for Mateus to slide out so he could take the window seat. Right.

Mateus obliged, trying hard not to notice how nice the man smelled as he slipped past him. It wasn't cologne, but something spicy and alluring all the same. Probably just the combination of the man's bodywash and own scent. It was intoxicating.

“So that's what your beef with the counter agent was, eh?” Mateus said casually as they got themselves buckled in.

The man looked up, his brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Mateus had the good grace to flush, but it didn't stop his mouth from running. “I saw you arguing at the counter in the terminal. You really wanted that window seat, I guess.”

The man bristled, his jawline going even sharper as he gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

Mateus let the silence hang between them for a few uncomfortable seconds, and the man caved just as Mateus had hoped he would.

“I don't normally make a habit of yelling at customer service agents,” he said, his tone a bit sheepish. Some of the rigor went out of his posture as he relaxed against the seat. “I've had a very bad few days, and I let my temper get the best of me. I apologized to her.”

Mateus was beyond amused. The man had been gorgeous and intimidating earlier, but now he was just adorable. “Well, it all worked out in the end.” He gave the man his most inviting smirk, pleased when he saw the faint beginnings of a blush stain his cheeks. Score yet another point for Mateus's gaydar. “I'm Mateus.”

“Crawford,” his seat mate replied.

“Well, Crawford-who-really-likes-windows, I'll let you get to it,” he said, nodding toward the attache at Crawford's feet.

Crawford seemed taken aback by Mateus's abrupt dismissal, which had Mateus grinning to himself as he took out something to read. He'd planned to spend the flight reading a bunch of trashy fiction, since he'd been immersed in nothing but research and journal articles for the last few months, but he didn't think he'd be able to concentrate enough to keep up with the plot, no matter how predictable it was.

 Just like he'd expected, Crawford had dug into his attache and pulled out a slim laptop. He was typing away, intent on the screen. The laser focus only made him more attractive. What would all that intensity feel like if it was centered on him, Mateus wondered. He'd assessed Crawford as uptight and repressed earlier, but after talking to him and seeing the adorable way he could make him blush, Mateus had changed his mind. Crawford was probably attentive and passionate in bed. Mateus's pulse jumped as he let his mind wander, picturing Crawford out of the delectable suit.

WIP Wednesday: Incoming Credits

Today's WIP Wednesday is a snippet from my YA manuscript, Incoming Credits. I absolutely adore Zeke and his teenage attitude. *g*

Incoming Credits

“Move it, Mr. Cameron,” Mr. Rhodes said. He was already slipping his own navy blazer over his button down. It coordinated nicely with his navy and gold Winthrop Prep tie. He usually coached in the same warm-ups that the players wore, and I wondered if he'd be going all out and coaching in his fancy clothes tonight because it was state.

“It's a five-point demerit if you're not in the gymnasium by the time the pep rally starts, and if you make me late it'll be ten,” he snapped.

While sitting on uncomfortable bleachers and watching whatever over-sexualized dry humping routine the cheerleaders had devised for the occasion wasn't exactly my cup of tea, earning ten demerits for my cohort would definitely be more painful in the long run.

I packed up my stuff without comment and trudged off to the gymnasium. I could hear the dull roar from inside as soon as I turned the corner. I'd cut it close. The hall monitor gave me a dirty look as I passed her, but at least she'd waited until I arrived before letting the door swing shut. It smacked against my backpack, sending me stumbling the last step into the chaos that was an all-school athletic pep rally. I knew the dramatic snick of the lock was in my imagination, but I couldn't help it, knowing that the door had locked behind me. We could get out, but no one could get in. Being in the hallway right now was a one-way ticket to the headmaster's office.

Go Prep.

I picked my way across the gym floor, sticking as close to the bleachers as I dared. It was a fine line. Stray too far onto the floor and get catcalled. Cut too close to the occupied bottom bleacher and get tripped. Good times.

Winthrop was big on decorum—what else would you expect from a place whose motto was Training Leaders for The Present and The Future!—but all that went out the window on pep rally days. Pep rally days were the only time we were excused from our usual blazers, chinos, and loafers, and everyone took advantage.

The bleachers were full of kids wearing the latest trendy clothes, all in navy and gold, our school colors. Even when we weren't in our blazers the bulk of the school still managed to have a uniform—expensive, trendy, and cookie cutter.

I scanned over them, a smirk curving my lips when I found what I was looking for. Kurt's ratty black AC/DC T-shirt and the cherry red leather jacket Chelsea had found at a garage sale when she'd visited me last summer stood out like welcome beacons—or sore thumbs, depending on who you asked—in the sea of designer labels. Leighton was perched on the bleacher seat next to her, looking just as perfect as the rest of the crowd if you ignored the scowl on her face.

WIP Wednesday: arts and crafts interlude

I'm a little burnt out on writing, to be honest. So I didn't accomplish much since last week on the manuscript fronts, though I did get in a few good quality thinks about where a few of the ones that are stalled are going to go. Every once in awhile I think it helps me to step back and just take some time to do other things and let my words rest. *g*

The break meant I was finally able to get the plan for my kitchen remodel finalized with my contractor, and we went in and ordered my new cabinets last week. I'm now tasked with the impossible feat of choosing a type of granite for my countertops--right now it's between uba tuba and black pearl, but that might just be because it's fun to make my contractor say "uba tuba". I take my amusements where I can get them. I'm probably going to make the mature choice and go with black pearl, because adults don't choose several thousand dollars' worth of granite for countertops just because it has a funny name.

When I'm not writing I love to paint and tinker. I didn't want to let myself get too far off my writing schedule, so painting was out. Instead, I tackled a project that's been on my radar since early spring--I made a terrarium.

Maybe Pottery Barn doesn't realize
you're just going to put dirt in it?

I've been lusting over something like this one from Pottery Barn or this one from Gardner's Outpost

What's more distressed about this
Gardener's  model: the paint or the price?

for a while, and either would look great in my new kitchen. (Which isn't even under construction yet, but a girl can dream. In about a month to six weeks I'm going to be very, very irritable while walls are being moved and the kitchen demo is going on, FYI.) But at $200-$400 for the Pottery Barn models or $150 for the other one, a terrarium costs much more than I could justify spending, especially since it's something I could make myself.

See, I do this all the time. I find something interesting, but I balk at the price because it's something that I'd be capable of making if I had infinite time. Which I don't. So I always pass on things because I plan to make one later, and then I never do it. But this time? This time I did! It even has hinges on the top to let the little doors open so I can reach inside.

Mine isn't quite as fancy as the deluxe models, but it is actually more my style. And it's going to go perfectly with my new white Shaker-style cabinets and dark granite countertops. Best of all, it's going to stop the cats from eating my herbs and then puking them up around the house for me to step in later. WINNING.

The entire thing cost me less than $10 to make, which is fortunate because that cabinet bill just about made me laugh until I cried.

WIP Wednesday: A little rainy hump day angst

Photo credit: Jon Sullivan

It's gray and rainy here, but the rain is bringing a very welcome respite from 90+ degree temps, so I'll take it. I won't go so far as to say I'll be happy driving to work in it in a few hours, but I'll take it nonetheless.

Angsty, broody men and rain go together well, so I'm sharing a snippet from my untitled manuscript (I've really got to get on naming this thing) about Jake and Connor, whose relationship seems to be falling apart.

Jake just found out that Connor lied about where he was going to be, which sets off all kinds of warning  bells for Jake. Here's a peek at his internal monologue:

---

Jake stalked down the hallway to their room, scowling at the neatly made bed. He’d forgotten that Gavin's sister Elaine was staying there for the night. He and Connor were supposed to be sleeping over at Chris' for the weekend.

He stomped back to the living room and threw himself on the couch, reaching for the remote and flicking on the television. A few minutes of channel surfing didn’t turn up anything that caught his attention, and even if he had, he didn’t think he could focus on something like a movie or television show while Connor was out gallivanting around town. So he sat and stewed until he could barely stand it, limbs practically twitching with nervous energy. As a contractor, he worked a lot with his hands and was up and around all day—he'd never been good at just sitting back and relaxing.

Not that it would be possible to relax at the moment. Jake ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was overdue for a cut, but he'd been waiting for Connor to say something. Jake almost never kept track of things like that; Connor was the one who hounded him to go in for a cut when it started to get shaggy. If left to his own devices, Jake would only get it cut when it started to get so unruly that it made his baseball caps fit too tightly.

But Connor hadn't said anything. There had been no hastily scribbled Post-it note on the bathroom mirror or coupons tucked into Jake's wallet for his favorite salon chain. Hell, Jake hadn't been able to wear the Mariners hat he almost never took off for over a week now because it had gotten uncomfortable, and Connor hadn't noticed that, either.

Jake added that to his mental tally of everything that had been going wrong with Connor lately, resisting the urge to tug at his floppy locks in frustration. He needed to be doing something, but it wasn't like he could confront Connor when he didn't even know where he was. Jake knew he could text him—even at his most distracted and unavailable, Connor always responded to texts. But could he trust anything Connor said? Wouldn't he just claim to be with Chris and make Jake even angrier?

WIP Wednesday: The Boyfriend

Hi all! I have great news--Dreamspinner accepted my novella Talk Turkey for its Advent Calendar, which means it will be out Dec. 1. With King of the Kitchen coming out in early November and Some Assembly Required hitting the shelves in February, my release calendar is filling up!

It can be hard to carve out time to write new things while I'm editing, but I'm doing my best to keep things moving. Right now I'm toying with the idea of self-publishing a novella and having it printed so I can give away copies at GRL. Thoughts? It would also be available for purchase on Amazon.

I'm also dusting off a YA fantasy manuscript I started years ago, but that won't be something I share here. It's gen, and between that and it being younger YA I just don't feel comfortable having it here. I'm actually pretty excited because Thing 1 is going to read through my rough draft and give me feedback--and since this is his favorite genre to read, I'm sure he'll have plenty to say. This may actually be the year I finish it and start looking for an agent! *g*

In between edits and the YA manuscript, I'm also working on a fake dating WIP that takes place in Portugal (because I'm a slave to tropes, and who doesn't love the fake-lovers-to-more trope?!). That's what you're getting a taste of today for #WIPWednesday.

The backstory: Crawford is CFO of an international hotel chain. He's good at his job, but so is his ex-husband--who he is being forced to work with for the first time since their bitter divorce three years earlier.

---

The Boyfriend

Crawford ground his teeth together. He'd been working for this company for more than half his life, starting as a desk clerk with all the other college grunts, graduating to the concierge desk at the biggest hotel in the chain within two years. Before long, he'd been promoted to the corporate offices, working grueling 80-hour weeks while simultaneously getting his MBA. It had paid off, too. He'd earned himself a vice presidency by the time he'd been 34. He'd met Alistair two years later at an industry conference, and it had been love at first sight for Crawford.

He'd helped Alistair get his foot in the door at Chatham-Thompson, and by the time they'd married three years to the day after Alistair chatted him up at the hotel bar that Crawford had been drowning his boredom at. They'd even spent their first anniversary at the same bar, combining their anniversary celebration with toasting Crawford's promotion to CFO.

Things had been great until they abruptly hadn't. Crawford had been completely blindsided by Alistair's announcement that he was moving to Portugal to take promotion he'd been offered. Crawford had been excited for him at first, plotting out how he'd be able to go with and manage his CFO duties from Lisbon, until Alistair had dropped the bomb that he didn't want Crawford to come.

Crawford spent his second wedding anniversary in a bar, too. Alone, with only the company of his freshly inked divorce decree.

“I am serious about Chatham-Thompson. Don't be ridiculous,” Crawford snapped.

Crawford had given his entire life to the company. Horrendously long work weeks, years where he let his vacation time slide by unclaimed because he was too busy building his career to take it—ironic, since he worked for the largest resort hotel chain in the world. He was the most dedicated employee in executive offices after Gregory. He just didn't see the need to force himself to work with his ex-husband to prove it.

“It's a done deal, Crawford. I know it's hard, but it's been three years. You need to get past it. I've indulged your feud for too long, and now it's starting to affect the bottom line. I can't let that happen,” Gregory said, standing to signify the end of the conversation. “Your flight and accommodations have been scheduled. Edward has arranged for you to have an assistant from his office at your disposal, and there will be a driver for you as well. Helena has the details.”

WIP Wednesday: Celebrity Out

The Barnacle has been home sick with a 104F fever, which means while I've had a few days at home I wouldn't normally have, they haven't exactly been productive. But if I ever end up on some sort of My Little Pony quiz show, I'm taking home the gold. *g*

She's better and back at school, and I'm heading in to work the closing shift at the library here in a few minutes. I've been so frazzled by our schedule upset that I totally forgot what day it actually was. Oops! Luckily, I remembered before I had to hop out for work.

This is the start of a WIP about two celebrities who have just filmed a movie together and are celebrating the successful wrap, which coincides with one of their birthdays. They're both in committed relationships, but find that they're on each other's celebrity out list. With their partners' permission and ecstatic encouragement (and I say that because I don't write infidelity, it's a total no-go for me, and I know it is for a lot of you, too) they find themselves together for a night.

Celebrity Out

“I think the party's dying out, I'll just go with you.” There was no reason to stay if even Emma was going, though Douglas didn't understand why she was leaving her own home.

“You’re staying here,” Jeff says, pursing his lips when Douglas frowns.

“Doug, it’s your 39^th birthday. You’ll be 40 next year. It’s alright to live it up a bit.”

He looks at him blankly, and Jeff shakes his head fondly.

“You’re going to make me say it outright, aren’t you?” he says, a smile curving his lips despite his exasperated tone. “I didn’t set out planning this, you know. But Emma and I had the most enlightening conversation. Hugh Grant? Johnny Depp? Carter Lang? Ring any bells?”

Douglas sucks in a breath, eyes widening in horror as he realizes what Jeff is talking about. He and Jeff had heard something on the radio about celebrity out lists years ago, and they'd jokingly put one together. It had been well before Douglas had any success in the industry, back when he'd been a struggling actor going out to any casting call he remotely fit the bill for and working as an overnight stock clerk at a big box store to make ends meet. They hadn’t talked about it in years, though, and he’d thought–hoped–that Jeff had forgotten. It was awkward now that they actually knew some of the men on their lists.

“Jeff, you can’t think that I’d –”

“It’s what the list is for, Douglas,” Jeff says, and there’s no trace of bitterness or anger in his tone. He cups Douglas' cheeks with his palms, keeping his gaze trained on him. “It’s your birthday. My present to you. Enjoy.”

Douglas huffs out a laugh, hardly believing they’re having this conversation. Because it sounds like Jeff is telling him he can have an affair with Carter as his birthday present, which is absolutely insane.

“And here I thought you’d get me that watch I’ve been eyeing,” he says, trying for humor. There was no way Jeff was being serious. They'd been together for more than ten years and Douglas hadn't strayed once in all that time, and he was sure Jeff hadn't either. Why would he throw that away now?

“No, we’re giving you the man you’ve been eyeing. That’s far better than any old watch, isn’t it?” Emma's comment takes Douglas by surprise, and he jumps. Only Jeff’s hands, which are still on his cheeks, keep him from whirling around. He’s suddenly sober as a judge, and he can feel a cold sweat prickle down his back. Jeff pulls him forward, pressing a kiss to his rigid lips, and then releases him. He stumbles a bit, backing up a step until he hits the wall behind him. Which is fine, until the wall moves and he realizes it’s Carter.

WIP Wednesday: Business or Pleasure

I've been busy with editing and trying to decide whether or not I want to pitch the sequel to King of the Kitchen  that's been banging around in my head for the last month or so, so I haven't done much writing.

Which isn't to say I haven't done any, just that it's been a lot slower going than my usual 2K+ a day output. I'm currently plugging away on this WIP that's a big shift for me--sex first, then a relationship later. If you've read pretty much any of my books, you know that's quite a departure from my usual slow-build. *g*

Kenji has just checked into his hotel on his latest business trip, and he's hoping to get a good workout in to tire him out for the night. He gets more than he bargained for...

---

Business or Pleasure

He pushed the door open, momentarily surprised when the sound of iron clanging toward the back of the small gym. Kenji had assumed he'd be on his own this late. 

He didn't need the weights, so it wasn't like it mattered. He shrugged off the surprise and entered, trying to keep his head down and not disturb the other person. The room was well-lit and clean, which was more than most hotel gyms had going for them. It was also lined with mirrors, which meant no matter which machine Kenji chose, he'd have a view of the other person, and they'd be able to see him. 

He dropped his towel and water bottle near the first treadmill he came to. He busied himself with the unfamiliar machine, setting his pace and time and then starting to jog as the treadmill belt started to pick up speed. He didn't look up again until he'd settled into a nice rhythm, the sounds of his feet hitting the belt loud in the otherwise quiet room.Kenji nearly swallowed his tongue when he finally got a look at the gym's other occupant. Or rather, the back of him. He was on the floor, busting through a set of push-ups that had his tanned, tattooed biceps bulging and his pert, rounded ass on display. 

The guy's sleeveless shirt was soaked, and his short hair was so dark with sweat that Kenji couldn't tell what color it actually was. He was working hard, and apparently he'd been at it awhile. 

Kenji had to force himself to look away. He made it a mile before giving in to temptation and sneaking another peek. The man had moved on to the free weights, and now his face was visible in the mirror. Even streaming with sweat and pink from exertion, he was gorgeous. His full lips were pinched with effort and his eyes were closed as he ran through his reps, which made Kenji look away quickly, embarrassed at his lack of self control. He shouldn't be staring at the poor guy.

WIP Wednesday: Into the Kitchen again!

I made a few of the T-shirts Duncan wears when
he guest-hosts on Beck's cooking show. See all of
them on my Facebook page!                                 

Before I was published, I labored under the very misguided belief that a writer wrote their manuscript, sent it off into the world, and that was that. Sure, there would be editing. Consultations on covers and blurbs. But the writing? That was done.

That, my friends, was a fallacy. Because editors aren't just there to catch typos and bad clauses--they're there to tighten up the writing and make the plot the best it can be. Which means pointing out errors in the arc, characters who are acting OOC, and basically wreaking wonderful havoc on your manuscript until it's the best it can be. Editors have a hard job, and I'm incredibly lucky that my publisher employs editors who are both talented and tactful, because it can't be easy to find nice ways to telling writers to cut sections because they're bulky, add things for clarity and pump up dialogue (and in some cases, as happened with Finding Home, add entire chapters, eek!). But I've never walked away from an edit feeling anything less than excited about how much better the book was, which is all down to how awesome the editing team at Dreamspinner Press is.

Anyway, now that I'm a grizzled writing vet (ha!) I realize that when I send a manuscript off to my publisher, I am most certainly NOT done writing. That was the case with King of the Kitchen. I had some really great editors working on it, with some great (but hard to hear) suggestions about where I could cut the manuscript to make it flow better and what I needed to add to make it really shine. Which is why now, months after the manuscript is finished, I'm still using King of the Kitchen for #WIP Wednesday. *g*


Beck and Duncan are playing up their friendship to the press, which now includes playing racquetball with Duncan's father, Vincent, and Beck's uncle, Christian. Vincent and Christian have a long-running feud, and here we see why.

King of the Kitchen, Dreamspinner Press, November 2015

“We’ll meet you on the court, then,” Christian said, brushing some invisible lint off his pristine white shorts. He and Vincent were both already dressed in their racquetball clothes. He gave Duncan’s jeans a distasteful look. “Do hurry.”

Beck wondered if he and Duncan should take turns changing just to have one of them on hand to act as a buffer between Vincent and Christian, but Vincent spoke before he could suggest it.

“I’ll head to the court to make sure they don’t give our reservation to someone else,” Vincent said. He sneered in Christian’s direction, his chest puffed out like a peacock. “Perhaps you could wait in the café. I believe they’re selling that brand of glorified tap water you’ve been hawking.”

Christian’s face went puce. “I only put my name on the very best brands,” he sniffed. “Not that you’d know anything about being judicious.”

Beck grabbed his uncle’s arm when Vincent took a step toward them. “Didn’t I see Arnie in the café on my way in? When I was in last week he asked me about placing an order for some premade dinners from Brix to sell here. Maybe you should go touch base with him about that. We’ll meet you on the court in five.”

Duncan snickered. “Save it for the court, old men.”

Christian glowered but held his hands up and stepped away. “I’m always happy to discuss new business ventures.”

“Expand or die, isn’t that your motto?” Vincent muttered, but he turned and headed down the corridor toward the courts when Duncan cleared his throat menacingly.

“This is such a bad idea,” Duncan said.

The photographer from the restaurant was just outside the plate glass window, so Beck slung his arm around Duncan’s shoulder and gave him a sunny smile. “The absolute worst,” he said through gritted teeth.

A different kind of #WIP Wednesday

Back to school for the Baker spawn!

I usually share snippets of manuscripts I'm working on for #WIPWednesday, but today was the first day of school for my kiddos and I'm feeling a little nostalgic and a lot proud of these two WIPs that I've been working on since 2006. So instead, here's what I'm working on when I'm not writing.

Hilton Head Island!

It's hard to believe how big these kiddos are getting. Or how fast the summer flew by, though at times it felt like it would never end. (Usually when I was paying summer day camp bills. *g*) We squeezed out every bit of fun we could with baseball games, surprise picnics, playdates at the park and two weeks in Hilton Head where we didn't do anything other than relax on the beach, swim every day, and continue our longstanding family tradition of competitive trash talking during mini golf.

Thing 1 before he was promoted to goalie
(with the monster pads and stick that entails)

The Boy (aka the Bub or Thing 1) is eight and starting third grade this year. He's a voracious reader whose favorite book is War of the Worlds, followed closely by the Harry Potter series. Bub is in the gifted and talented program where he has already surpassed me in math, and he plans to be an astrophysicist when he grows up. He announced his intentions when he was four and very nicely explained the difference when I asked him if he meant astronomer. He loves reading, cooking, anything to do with military history (especially the Civil War) and any and all things LEGO. His favorite subject at school (aside from recess) is Japanese, and he's also teaching himself Portuguese and Spanish. He starts soccer in two weeks, though that's really just a way to bide his time til ice hockey season starts back up in October. He loves watching the Chicago Blackhawks, going to minor league soccer (Go Indy Eleven!) and baseball (Go Indianapolis Indians!) games, and he can recite sports trivia and scores almost as well as his father. He has won the last five family sports bracket contests in a row, predicting tournament winners (in World Cup soccer, the NHL, and college basketball) with almost as much accuracy as that famous octopus. We have eaten an inordinate amount of crappy Hungry Howie's pizza as a result, since we always play for no-veto restaurant selection rights.

Grr Zelda. Animal lover. Fashion maven.
Future roller girl.

The Girl (aka the Barnacle or Thing 2) is starting first grade. She's only five, but even though she's a year younger than her classmates she can hold her own. She's pretty fierce. She plans to be a veterinarian when she grows up, and she loves animals of all sorts. She spent her summer reading nonfiction books about reptiles, though she doesn't particularly like them because they're not fuzzy. She said it was research. Her favorite band is Fall Out Boy, and I have been informed numerous times that she's sure her favorite television show would be Monster High, if only I would stop ruining her social life and let her watch it. Alas, she's going to have to get by on her looks, because I'm not budging on that crap. As it stands, she can usually be found watching My Little Pony instead. She'll start learning Japanese this school year, but she's been teaching herself Spanish, mostly so she can sass her father (who also taught himself Spanish, so the polyglot gene is well-embedded). She is excited to be moving up to U-8 soccer a year early, mostly thanks to the fact that she spends a gratuitous amount of time either outside practicing or begging to go outside and practice. She can also cut a mean backstroke and butterfly, and she'll probably join a swim team next season. She loves the Blackhawks as much as her brother and father do, but instead of playing hockey she's waiting to be old enough to join the Naptown Roller Girls junior roller derby team. (Only two more years!) She even has a shirt with her derby name on it--Grrr Zelda, in honor of her family nickname, Griselda. Or Zellie, affectionately.

Next week we'll get back to manuscript snippets, I promise! Thanks for indulging my proud mama moment.

WIP Wednesday: turkey bondage

We're joining Carson and Tom in Talk Turkey again today. It's been a riot writing these two because their banter and chemistry is wonderful--it keeps me smiling long after it's gone on the page.

---

Talk Turkey

His mom had texted him a recipe for brine this morning. He'd had to look it up. Apparently some people dunked their turkey in a vat of salty water before cooking it. He laughed humorlessly as he thought about his tiny kitchen. The only place he'd be able to brine a turkey would be his rusty bathtub, where he'd be more likely to infuse it with tetanus than salt. 

But she'd been so excited to share recipes with him and so confident that he'd be able to make Christmas dinner on his own. With pictures, which was why he was headed to Safeway even though he ought to be at home with a pair of flannel pajamas and dry socks. 

His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he made his way back to the turkeys. They were significantly more picked over than they had been last week, and Carson kicked himself for not going back right after he'd talked to Tom and getting one. All the small ones were gone, leaving Carson to choose between large and gargantuan. 

He took out his phone and dialed Tom's direct number. 

“Why hello, good sir,” Tom answered. “How are you on this lovely snowy night?” 

Carson balked a little at the greeting. He held his phone away from his ear for a second to look at the screen. He'd called the number Tom had given him, but he hadn't expected Tom to know who he was. Which was silly, in retrospect, because he already knew the hotline had caller ID. Tom hadn't had to ask for his phone number last time. Duh. 

“Carson?” Tom sounded unsure. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I'm at the grocery store and I'm a little overwhelmed by all my turkey choices,” Carson babbled. It was true, it just wasn't the reason he was so out of whack. 

“Ah, I see. Well, how can I help?” Tom sounded more professional now, less at ease. Carson winced. Had he offended Tom by going straight to business? 

“I put off getting my turkey...” 

“And now only unsuitable ones are left,” Tom said knowingly. “Did you get the pamphlets I sent?” 

He had. It had been the first piece of mail that wasn't a bill Carson had received at his new address, but admitting how excited he'd been to open the envelope seemed silly. “Yeah. How To Thaw was riveting.” 

Tom snorted. “Personally I find Basting Basics to be the gem of that lot, but tastes differ.” 

The hard pit that had been in Carson's stomach since the horrendous office Christmas party eased a bit at Tom's comfortable cajolery. Why couldn't he talk this easily with the people in his department at work? 

“I'm saving Trussing Techniques for later. It sounded a bit racy,” he said, grinning when Tom started laughing. 

“Oh God. Bedtime reading for sure,” he said, taking a gasping breath. “You make it sound like Fifty Shades of Grey for turkeys.” 

“Could be,” Carson said, still smiling. “I've never read either, so how would I know?” 

“Clearly you need to read both now. For science,” Tom said, still sounding a bit choked. 

“I think it would be for literature, not for science. Besides, turkeys don't have hands. I don't see how they'd be able to tie a decent knot, let alone wield a paddle.”

WIP Wednesday: Let's Talk Turkey

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I'm getting a woefully late start on this so I don't hold out much hope of it being ready in time for the Dreamspinner Press Advent Calendar deadline, but this is a story I've been waiting to write for two years, so I decided to give it a go.

This year's Advent Calendar topic is holiday mishaps that have happy endings, so my meet-cute story about a man calling a turkey hotline because he got his hand stuck in the turkey while trying to take out the packet inside seemed perfect. You guys, I can't even explain how much I've wanted to write this story. SO. MUCH. But it never rose to the top of my WIP pile because there's no way it could possibly be an entire novel, and I was already working on several novellas.

I've been busy finishing up Some Assembly Required and doing the first-round edits on King of the Kitchen (and pondering the possibility of a sequel to it, thanks to a seed planted by my editor....) so I am so far behind schedule with this delightful and funny romp about the turkey hotline. But it's started, at least, and that's something. *g*

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Talk Turkey

    “Thanks for calling the Talk Turkey hotline. This is Tom.”
    The voice was like velvet. Deep and soothing. Carson's frazzled nerves instantly calmed, and his tense shoulders released a bit. Did they train the hotline operators to talk like that? Surely anyone who was desperate enough to call a turkey hotline was in a bad way. And really, Tom?
    “Tom,” he said, disbelieving. “Like Tom Turkey? Is that what they call every guy who works there?”
    The husky chuckle that came across the line gave Carson goosebumps.
    “One, I'm the only guy who works here. And two, my name really is Tom. Thomas Alexander Stockton. But yes, I do get my fair share of Tom Turkey jokes.”
    It was Carson's turn to laugh. “Maybe you should go by Thomas instead. It makes it less obvious.”
    Tom hummed thoughtfully. “The only people who call me Thomas are my mom and my grandma, and even then it's only when I'm about to be flayed by one of them. I don't think I could shake the association.”
    “Well, I suppose the jokes are inevitable, then.”
    That earned him another throaty chuckle. Carson swallowed hard, his chest tingling.
    “I've gotten used to them,” Tom said dismissively. “Can I get your name and a brief description of your turkey problem so I can give you a better customer service experience?” The silky, easy cadence of his voice had taken on a bit of stilted hesitation. Carson wondered if he was reading off a script now. How disappointing.
    How starved for human contact was he that he'd melted because the person who'd answered a turkey hotline sounded hot and interested?
    Goddamn it.

WIP Wednesday: Your last glimpse of Some Assembly Required before it is submitted!

Lex Chase and I have been hard at work finishing up our comedic (and surprisingly angsty and robust) foray into IKEA's spectral plane. I'm spending my day with some last-minute edits and then Some Assembly Required will be off to our publisher. It's been an interesting lark--much plottier and heartfelt than we'd imagined it we jokingly set out to see if we could outline a book based on a silly writing exercise assigned by Damon Suede at a conference in Orlando earlier this year.

It was never a book we truly intended to write, but Damon liked the snippets we'd written in the class and encouraged us to continue it. And then our editor heard him talking about it with us, and the rest is history. Or rather, the rest is ghosts falling in love in purgatory, which just happens to be housed in IKEA.

Given how much time we've spent frantically trying to finish by our deadline--which is today, by the way, because Lex and I like to live dangerously and down-to-the-wire--it was a surprise that coming to the end of the manuscript took us by, well, surprise. Suddenly we were done. It was happy, to be sure, because every writer likes to actually finish a project. But we were also sad to leave Benji and Patrick behind because we'd fallen in love with them. Personally, I think I might miss Agnes the most. She's plucky and mysterious and has most of the great one-liners in the book. *g*

So without further ado, here's the last snipped of Some Assembly Required you'll see here in #WIPWednesday, since after today it's no longer a #WIP. *sniffle*

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Some Assembly Required, release February or March 2016, Dreamspinner Press

Agnes didn't look over, absorbed in her knitting and apparently trusting him to work through the snarled yarn himself. He started winding. “Find her parents?” 

Benji didn't bother to ask how she knew. Agnes seemed to know everything that went on in the store, which made it all the more puzzling that Patrick thought he could prank her. Surely Patrick realized that Agnes was more, didn't he? Benji couldn't put it to words, not even in his own head, so he'd never tried to talk about it with Patrick. Besides, he kind of liked the unique bond he and Agnes had. It was certainly better than the antagonistic one she shared with Patrick. 

“Her mom. Pretty sure that will be the last time she wanders off. She was shaken up.”  

Agnes nodded, looking up briefly from her knitting. “Something about it shook you up, too.” 

It had, but he hadn't really noticed it until Agnes said something. He was always happy to reunite a missing kid with its parents, but it usually felt better than this. Today Benji just felt empty.  

And really, always and usually? Benji wasn't one for melodramatics, even in his own inner monologues. Why was he be using words that implied he'd been here years when it had been a month or two, tops? He needed to find a hobby or something.  

“I wish Patrick would decide if he was avoiding me or not,” he said, because Patrick was kind of like having a hobby. If a hobby was rude and sarcastic and more often than not ended with Benji needing to regenerate in the ball pit with Agnes.  

Agnes hummed. “Patrick has a lot more than that to decide,” she murmured. Her lips moved soundlessly as she counted her stitches, though the mass of finished rows on her lap followed no discernible pattern. Agnes's knitting was as cryptic as her advice.

WIP Wednesday: At the beach!

Thing 2 and I found a double rainbow
on a rainy beach walk!

I'm at the beach for the next two weeks, so I thought it was only fitting I brought some of my characters with me.

I'm off to take the kidlets down to the sand to build castles and boogie board, but we won't be having near as much fun as Connor and Jake did in this sexy about making s'mores on the beach. *g*

Enjoy!!

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There was a blanket spread in the middle of the expanse of sand, but that wasn't where Connor led him. Jake went down without a fight when Connor nudged him to his knees, obediently nestling into the sand next to it. He luxuriated in the feel of the sand beneath him, shifting and scratching just as it would if they were really at the shore, while Connor pulled the bag with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars over and assembled a s'more.

“I borrowed my dad's fire pit, but I don't think it's warm enough to go out on the balcony with it. Luckily, I always have a plan B.” Connor mumbled around the s'more he held in his teeth. He dug through a bag again, rustling around in it before triumphantly holding up a lighter.

Jake was transfixed by the sight of Connor’s lips closed around the treat, his heart thudding slowly at the thought of those full lips parted around something else.

“Bit small, eh?” Jake teased, quirking an eyebrow at the small Bic.

Connor made a tsking sound, shaking his head. The lighter cast just enough brightness that Jake could see the way Connor’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement.

“If I was going to melt the whole thing, yes. But I have other plans, oh ye of little faith.” Connor held the lighter up to the chocolate, eyes narrowing as he concentrated on melting the chocolate without burning his fingers. When the first tiny bead dripped to the sand, he made a triumphant noise and flicked the lighter, plunging them back into the semi-darkness. Jake blinked, a corona of colors from the flame still burned into his retinas as he tried to adjust.

Before he could ask Connor what the plan actually was, Jake felt lips pressed against his. He responded without thinking, parting his own lips enough for Connor’s tongue to slide inside. The flavor of chocolate burst over his tongue, and it took him a few seconds to realize that Connor must have licked the melted chocolate. The mental image of Connor, lips and tongue painted with the sweet, sticky s’more made Jake groan, and he cupped the back of Connor’s head with his hand, pulling him in even closer so he could deepen the kiss.

“You’re such a tease,” he growled when Connor pulled back.

Connor snickered, flicking the lighter on again. His face was lit with a halo of dancing light again, and Jake smugly noted that Connor’s lips looked a bit swollen from his possessive kiss. He watched as Connor went through the process of melting more of the chocolate, this time leaving the lighter lit as he lifted the s’more to his mouth and licked it.

Jake was ready for the darkness this time, easily tracking Connor’s movements as he came closer again. He opened his mouth eagerly, stroking Connor’s tongue with his own to strip away all the chocolate that somehow tasted even sweeter mingled with a taste that was all Connor.

“Christ,” Jake muttered when Connor broke away again.

“Good, isn't it?” Connor bent his head, nipping at the tender skin of Jake’s neck. “And think, it's just the two of us, all alone on a deserted patch of beach.”

Jake was scrambling for the blanket before Connor had even finished his sentence, shaking it roughly to rid it of any lingering sand before spreading it carefully.

“God, your mouth,” Jake murmured, fixated on the dark outline of Connor’s lips, barely visible in the light of the moon. He groaned when he realized Connor still had the half-eaten s'more clamped in his teeth. “Would you forget the stupid s’more and just get down here?”

Connor grinned around his mouthful, winking as lasciviously as he could with graham cracker and marshmallow stuffed into his mouth. He dropped to his knees on the blanket and leaned over Jake, fishing in the sand for the discarded lighter.

“Trust me?” 

WIP Wednesday: More Connor and Jake

This summer seems like it's flying by! I'm heading off to Hilton Head Island for two weeks with the kids and Hubs on Saturday, and I'm really hoping to get a good amount of writing and editing done while I'm there. So next #WIPWednesday will be coming at you from the beach, though I haven't decided which project is going to be lavished in my attention while I'm there yet. Any suggestions? I'll be finishing up Some Assembly Required with Lex while I'm there, but after that I'll be diving into something else.

Should it be The Zen Den with sexy yoga teacher Owen and his newest student, Kincaid? Or maybe it's finally time to finish my YA manuscript Incoming Credits with adorably geeky Zeke and his heartthrob Hatcher. And I also have Connor and Jake languishing out there, the poor guys whose manuscript doesn't even have a title to call its own yet.

Connor and Jake's particular brand of angst is what I was feeling this week, so you get another snippet of their story. The two of them have just come from their first night out together in weeks, spent at a bar with a group of their friends. We come in on their cab ride home.

Let me know which WIP you'd like to me to work on in the comments! *g*

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Jake spent the short cab ride wondering what he should say to Connor once they were alone. Had he read too much into the way Connor had swayed into him during the chorus of the song they’d sung, or the way his own voice had hitched as he’d sung the last verse? They were both still a little drunk; maybe Jake should let it go until he was more level-headed.

Connor was unnaturally quiet as they made their way up two flights of stairs to the apartment he shared with their roommate, Gavin. Instead of slipping down the hall that lead to their bedroom as Jake had expected him to, though, Connor detoured into the kitchen.

“I have a little bit of work to get through before I can call it a night,” Connor said quietly, out of deference to Gavin, who was sacked out on the couch.

“It's Friday night, Con. Come on.” Jake knew he was perilously close to sounding whiny, but he didn't care. He just wanted Connor in bed with him, even if it was just to sleep.

“Just a few emails. I promise.” Connor was already immersed in something on his laptop, not even looking up when Jake sighed and gave up, retreating down the hallway.

It seemed like a shame to climb into the freshly made bed stinking of smoke from the club, so Jake shut the bedroom door so the sound wouldn't wake Gavin and walked through to the bathroom, turning the shower taps on and shirking out of his clothes. Leaving them in a pile on the floor never failed to get a rise out of Connor, and Jake felt a small zing of satisfaction at knowing the clothes would drive Connor crazy when he saw them. The contentedness from the club had definitely waned, and Jake felt himself falling straight back into the pit low-level resentfulness and irritation he'd been wallowing in lately.

He was enjoying the hot spray and too caught up in his own thoughts to hear the door open, and Jake had to bite back a yelp when he saw Connor’s head poke around the shower curtain.

“Jesus. A little warning?”

Connor’s eyes swept down Jake’s bare chest, traveling over the flat planes of his stomach and lingering at the trail of wiry blond hair that led down to Jake’s half-hard cock, which despite his anger at Connor putting him off to work was definitely showing interest in Connor’s appraisal now.

“You should be ashamed of how much water you waste,” Connor said with a grin, pulling his own shirt up over his head and tossing it in the hamper. He cast a glance at the pile of Jake’s discarded clothes on the floor, shaking his head. “I bet you took a shower before you came out tonight, too. And one this morning.”

“We can’t all be like you, Conservation Connor,” Jake teased, watching as Connor’s jeans went into the hamper. “Saving the planet one uneaten hamburger at a time.”

Connor wasn't a vegetarian, but he never ate red meat and rarely indulged in poultry or pork, preferring vegetables and fish. It was a running joke between them—Connor had been one of the only people at the Texas university where they met who didn't eat beef. Connor laughed at the familiar jibe, slipping past him into the shower. Jake watched him, studying the way the rivulets of water coursed over Connor’s pale skin as he held his face up to the spray, his dark hair flattening against his skull.

“Lucky they didn’t make us sing New Age Girl,” Connor said, licking the water from his lips in a way that made Jake’s mouth go dry.

“Yeah?” Jake asked, stepping closer and backing Connor up against the tiles, his lips hovering just over the other man’s. “I don’t I know that one.”

“More evidence of your appalling taste in music,” Connor said, ducking his head a bit and nipping at the stubble on Jake’s chin. “Maybe Coldplay will remake it someday.”

Jake was feeling too generous at the moment to respond to the barb, angling his neck instead so Connor could press a row of kisses along his jaw. He canted his hips forward, rubbing his wet body against Connor’s, their erections brushing against each other.

“It’s about a girl,” Connor said, his warm breath, cooler than the water they’re under, making Jake shiver as it skated across the shell of his ear. “A vegetarian. Who likes—”

His hand ghosted down Jake’s body, leaving no question as to just exactly what the vegetarian in question—and Connor—liked.

WIP Wednesday: an IKEA movie date!

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Lex and I are so, so close to the finish line with Some Assembly Required. We've built the world and filled it in with a lot of wonderful, colorful characters. And now we're getting to the nitty gritty stuff that I love...sweet moments and relationship building! *g*

What happens when you're a ghost so your spiritual essence is tied to IKEA and you can't take your crush on a date? Why, you bring the date to him! Benji and Patrick's relationship is moving along at a snail's pace (or rather, Patrick's pace...) and Benji decides what they need is a good old-fashioned movie date.

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Some Assembly Required, February 2016, Dreamspinner Press

Benji sighed as he moved over to snag a VGA cable from around Karin's neck and start hooking the laptop up. She'd clearly not known what he needed, since she brought several. He saw an HDMI and what he was pretty sure was an ethernet cable, though he had no idea where she'd have gotten that. 

Agnes craned her neck, watching him closely. “So you're going to show a movie using this?” 

He wondered when the last time Agnes had actually watched a movie. Had they even had talkies then? He decided discretion was the better part of valor and bit back his joke. 

“I'm streaming the movie and using the projector to put it up on the wall. Kind of like how movie theaters do it.” 

Agnes poked at the laptop, and the screen flickered from the burst of electromagnetic energy. She drew her hand back quickly, and Benji almost laughed. It was the closest to chagrined he'd ever seen her. 

Karin joined them, squinting at the laptop. “So there's a movie reel in there?” 

Not for the first time, Benji wondered just exactly how old Karin and Agnes were. 

“Uh, no. Nowadays movie theaters are all digital.” He bit his lip when he looked up and saw two blank faces. “It's hard to explain. But no, there are no reels of film.” 

He'd had a hard time figuring out what to screen for Patrick on their movie date, but after an hour agonizing over his choices he'd settled on The Avengers. It was the perfect mix of action and geekery and it was exactly the type of movie he bet Patrick would have lined up to see on opening night. 

Benji was going to be kind of devastated if Patrick didn't love it. 

WIP Wednesday: Back into the kitchen

Photo: Raleys

I'm on deadline with Some Assembly Required so it's almost all IKEA all the time in my brain right now, but I've got a little space left over for my lovely King of the Kitchen boys. The book is in edits right now, and I'm currently testing recipes for the addendum. My plan is to have one for everything Beck cooks (he's into the slow food movement, with local ingredients and minimal fancifying) and at least a few of the things Duncan cooks. That's a little harder, since he's a molecular gastronomist and I doubt most of you have the tools to spherify liquids (easier than you'd think, but requires chemicals from specialty shops) and sous vide meat to tender perfection. *g*

In this excerpt Beck cooks one of my very favorite things to make in the kitchen, roasted brussel sprouts. This recipe will definitely be in the book!

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King of the Kitchen, Dreamspinner Press, November 2015

Beck pulled a plate out of the warmer, sitting it on the counter between them. The camera came forward, zooming in on it, and Duncan had to force himself not to take an instinctive step back. Filming television was hard.

“We're taking on brussels sprouts today. They get a pretty bad rap, but when Duncan and I are done with them today I think you'll see that they're a flavorful and nutritious addition to any dinner table,” Beck said.

“I'll be going the more traditional route, slow roasting my Brussels sprouts with grape tomatoes and finishing them with a balsamic reduction,” Beck said. The camera panned over the ingredients a stage hand had set out moments before.

“And I'll be bringing some chemistry into the kitchen and showing you how to make a bacon foam that will complement my crunchy smoked Brussels sprouts perfectly,” Duncan said. He'd brought his smoke gun and his whipping siphon, and both had caused quite a stir in the prep kitchens. He held them up now. “These probably aren't tools you'll find in your home kitchen, but there are plenty of affordable models out there for the home cook. They look a little intimidating, but we'll talk through the process today. You'll find that science in the kitchen can be fun and tasty.”

Both of their dishes took a long time to make, which was why Andre and the prep kitchen had supplied them with multiple switch-out dishes so they could show the cooking process to the audience as they went. Some of Duncan's steps couldn't be prepared in advance, though, like setting up the smoke gun and preparing the siphon to make the foam.

He was more than a little nervous about things not working as they should, but everything moved along seamlessly, aside from a minor spill when he and Beck collided.

“And that's why you always say call out 'behind' in a professional kitchen,” Duncan joked, brushing the balsamic vinegar he'd spilled on his coat off. “It's also why no one but Beck wears these monkey suits while we're cooking.”

He put his pot down and peeled off his sports jacket, handing it off to the stage hand who darted forward to take it. Having all this off-screen help was nice. Kind of like what he'd imagined having Thing would be like when he'd watched The Addams Family as a kid.

“Ah, that's better.”