Wednesday, November 23, 2011


Just a quick note to tell you that my super short story, Scoring, released today at It's got a 5/5 heat level and costs $0.99.

Jay Lang has been fooling himself by thinking he’s bisexual, because when it comes to Martin Petrie, he can’t stop imaging hot steamy sex. Martin calls his bluff in a single searing kiss from his perfect lips. Now Jay can barely hang onto his heart as Martin sets out to prove just how “bi” Jay isn’t.


Jay Lang bounced his knee. The faded jean material blurred below the line of the television screen. One arm stretched along the backrest toward his roommate. He drummed his fingers on the cushion. Jagged blond fringe partially obscured his vision as he tried in vain to watch the Minnesota Vikings form an offensive attack against the Dallas Cowboys.

It should have been riveting. The Vikings and the Cowboys were football enemies only bested by the rivalry between the Vikings and the Green Bay Packers. It should have been attention consuming, yet all he could think about was his best friend, Martin Petrie.

Oblivious to Jay’s rioting anxiety, Martin hooted as the Vikings sacked the quarterback beneath a three-man pile. The only pile Jay could think about involved Martin beneath him.

Jay scrubbed a hand over his face with his building frustration. Until a year ago, he’d thought he was bisexual. He’d been fooling himself. Sure, he’d taken girl after girl to moaning ecstasy, but that was for show. It was for the sole purpose of putting Martin off his scent. It possibly worked too well because Martin didn’t have a clue how Jay really felt.

But the fuck of it was now they were roommates. Jay had thought seeing Martin every day would help him get over the college infatuation. On the contrary, he’d become even more enraptured since graduation, and it was starting to show.

If only he hadn’t walked in on Martin jacking off in the shower, maybe he could have continued to pretend he wasn’t hot for his friend. Instead, he had visions of Martin inviting him to take over as the hot water beat down on them.

Fuck. He was already getting hard.

Jay shifted, grabbed the giant bowl of popcorn and put it on his lap. Half-heartedly he munched at the crisp kernels, hoping his roommate would never look beyond Jay’s sudden urge for snacking to the erection the bowl attempted to hide. If Martin were paying attention, he’d see that the bowl was tipped more to one side held up by a heavy ridge of cock.

If he moved his fingers just a little bit to the right, they’d brush Martin’s shoulder. If he moved them up from there, they’d be tangled in thick brown hair. Jay imagined grabbing it in a fist and pulling back, taking Martin’s mouth, Martin helpless to do more than drag Jay over his lap.

God, yes, he loved that idea.

Jay chanced a sidelong look at his buddy. Martin flopped a hand out and dug around the popcorn bowl on Jay’s lap. Jay bit back a groan as the unintentional scraping vibrations of his search tingled along Jay’s cock.

Or, Jay thought, he could fist Martin’s hair and drag his face down to cover Jay’s cock with those beautiful lips. Jay loved how the upper one resembled an elongated Cupid’s bow shaft. Fuller than the bottom lip and wide, Jay liked watching his friend talk. Every word formed seemed like an erotic journey.

It was no wonder the girls in their group called him Lips. Who wouldn’t want those beauts pressed to them…anywhere?

As he watched, Martin popped a kernel into his mouth. His tongue snaked out to catch the salt on his upper lip. Then he looked at Jay. “Did you see that?” he whooped.

“Every second,” Jay growled, thinking of the cushiony resilience of Martin’s mouth.

“What the fuck was he thinking? He should have gone for the two-pointer. The game’s too close.”

“That’s ’cause you aren’t coaching them,” Jay teased.

“I know, right?” Eyes fastened to the television, Martin scrounged for more popcorn.

Jay almost couldn’t take it. Oh, he liked it plenty. That sensation of not fondling him but also kinda fondling him made thought a little dicey. But if he wanted to hold onto his sanity, Jay needed to make the quasi-touching stop. He handed the bowl over.

“Take it. I’m done with the popcorn.”

Martin took it and dropped it into his own lap. “Morons!” he shouted at the set. “Even Margie can throw a better pass than that. Give her the contract next time.”

Margie, one of the girls that hung out with them, was known for her lack of grace. The insult to the Vikings wasn’t a mild one. Jay smiled.

“You think Margie would sign on? She’d be amazing as a kicker,” Jay tossed in lamely. He’d had nothing really to say, or to add, but he’d wanted in on the one-sided conversation.

Martin shot him a funny look. “Dude. That made no sense.” He turned his attention back to the flat screen.

“Yeah, it did. Because Margie wears those pointy shoes, and she’s got curly hair, so—”

“You’re not selling it,” Martin scoffed.

“We should go to Beertopia to watch the game next time. S’way cooler with a crowd.”

Martin lobbed a kernel of popped corn at Jay. It pinged between his eyes. “Like you’d be any less distracted in a crowd. Right. Whatever.”

“I’m not distracted,” Jay protested.

“The fuck you aren’t. Madden has stuttered at least five times, and you haven’t lifted your beer once. Can’t be a drinking game if you don’t play along.”

“Game’s boring.”

The look of disbelief on Martin’s face should have been a warning. Martin lifted the remote and hit the pause button. “Not ten minutes ago you were agreeing with me that the coaching staff is on crack. Now, you’re pretending that the hottest game of the season isn’t. What the fuck, man?”

“The hottest game of the season would be against the Detroit Lions.” Jay folded his arms across his chest. Having Martin’s complete attention was a little heady. He needed to piss Martin off. Needed to keep from kissing that luscious wide mouth Jay couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

“You’re high.”

“I’m right,” Jay argued.

“You’re high.” Martin got up and swished his empty beer bottle. “Want one?”

“Get yourself a wine cooler. I’m not sure you’re ready to watch football and drink beer with the big boys.”

Martin’s eyebrows climbed slowly. “I see. And let me guess. You’re a big boy? Do you need pull ups or just your sippy cup?” Martin sauntered to the small galley kitchen in their apartment.

Jay got up too, starting to feel his ire grow. This was good. He needed it. For the sake of sanity, they both needed it even if Martin didn’t know he did. “Only if it’s filled with Jack.”

“As in, Jack shit?” Martin teased.

“Daniels. But I forget that Jack may be too strong for a guy who thinks this football game is the epitome of pig-skin awesome.”

Martin had been reaching into the fridge as Jay blocked the galley exit. He turned and the glass bottom of his beer clanked loudly on the granite surface as he set it down. “What’s your beef, bro?”

“About ten inches.”

Martin laughed. “I’ve seen you naked. That might work in a bar, but I know better. You’re seven at best.”

“That’s not what your sister said,” Jay snarked.

Martin’s blue-gray eyes turned stormy. “Seriously. What the fuck?”

Yeah, they were all stupid low blows designed to piss Martin off. Jay actually liked his sister. She was a sweetheart, and Jay would sooner cut his balls off than make a play for her. Even if he were straight.

Instead of fessing up, Jay shrugged negligently. “Just sayin’.”

“Did you fuck my sister?” Martin asked tightly.

Jay’s eyes widened. Shit, that hadn’t been taken at all like he’d expected. Martin actually thought he’d do that?

“No, man, it’s a figure of speech.” He lightly shoved the other man’s chest, but his fingers met rock-hardness.

Martin grabbed Jay’s fingers where they were. “Don’t fuck with me. Did you, at any time, make a move on or dangle your cock in the vicinity of my kid sister?” His face was tight, cold eyes stared back at Jay, and his wide lips had lost their pretty fullness.

“I haven’t touched her.” Jay lowered his voice, hoping to convey his absolute sincerity. “I wouldn’t touch her. Ever.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed on him for a minute before he released Jay’s fingers. “Keep it that way.”

“I will. She’s not my type anyway.”

A small smile touched his roommate’s mouth, relaxing the hard line of it and bringing back the sensual Cupid’s bow. “What’s your type?”

Geez, what did he say to that? “Someone I can hang with,” he muttered, dropping eye contact.

“Maybe I should put on a wig,” Martin teased.

The mangy wig thought aside, the idea of Martin standing in as Jay’s someone made his stomach hop inside.


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