The Hate You Drink
-- EXCERPT: I didn’t need to see the photographs of the wrecked car or the glass and metal strewn across the gutter. I didn’t need the reminder of how close it had been this time. I closed the newspaper, folded it in half, and slid it across the counter and let out an exhausted sigh. I didn’t want to meet Jeffrey’s disappointed gaze. I knew that look. I’d seen it more times than I could count. Jeffrey Kwon, a distinguished Korean-Australian man with short greying hair and a kind face, had been a close friend of Monroe’s parents as well as their trusted lawyer for thirty years, and Jeffrey assumed the same role for Monroe when his parents died. He was no-nonsense and astute, but he had a heart of gold and everyone knew Monroe would be lost without him. Well, everyone but Monroe. “Where is he?” “Still asleep,” I replied. I walked over to the nearest couch and all but fell into it, my head in my hands. “You haven’t been to bed yet?” I was too tired to even scoff. “Nope. It was after three by the time we left the police station. And then I had to get him into bed.” I didn’t tell him that I’d sat on the end of Monroe’s bed when he’d passed out, trying to calm my anxiety. How many nights had I got a phone call from him, drunk, needing help or a lift, to pick him up from a bar or the police station? A quick glance at my phone told me it was just after eight. The morning sun was up and glaring angrily over the Pacific like it could feel my mood. I scrubbed my hand over my face, feeling the minutes of sleep I’d missed. “How he didn’t hurt himself or someone else, I’ll never know.” “It’s only a matter of time before he does.” Jeffrey’s tone was as sharp as his suit, whereas I felt like Monroe’s crumpled wreck that had been winched onto the tow truck last night. I nodded, because he was right. We all knew he was right. Everyone, that was, but Monroe. “I’ll have the insurance forms sent over this afternoon,” Jeffrey said. He rarely let his emotions show, but I could tell he was angry and disappointed. He was probably a dozen different emotions right now. What he wasn’t was surprised. This was far from the first time. “Thanks, Jeffrey. He does appreciate it.” He gave a nod and walked toward the grand foyer, but he stopped before he got to the door. “Does he? Does he appreciate all you do for him?” I didn’t answer. Even if I knew what to say, I couldn’t get the words out. But Jeffrey didn’t wait for a reply. The soft click of the front door was loud in the silence. My heart was a weighted lump in my chest. My ribs felt too tight like I couldn’t breathe properly. Like I hadn’t been able to breathe properly in years. The space of Monroe’s house was vast—tiled floors, high ceilings, glass walls overlooking the ocean, no expense spared—yet the vast emptiness was overwhelming. A mansion worth several million dollars, on every elite real-estate list in Australia, was a hollow void of loneliness and grief, much like the man who owned it. Who was, at that very moment, passed out drunk in his bed. The heaviness of the last twelve hours settled over me, and I slumped down on the couch, pulled a cushion under my head, and closed my eyes. * * * “Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up.” I startled and shot up. Disoriented at first, until I remembered I was on Monroe’s couch. He was standing at the end of the sofa with his arms full of brown paper bags, and then I could smell something. “I was starving,” he said. “And Uber Eats is a gift from the gods. Shuffle up.” I slid up the couch a little and he parked himself next to me, shoved the bags and a pizza box onto the coffee table, then pulled it toward us. “I didn’t know what you felt like, so I got that wood-fired pizza you like and some curry and—” “What time is it?” I asked. Usually the view out the window was a good indication of the time, but it had come over cloudy. Summer storms usually rolled in around four. “Half two.” “Shit. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. I was supposed to go into the office today.” Monroe shrugged like he did to most responsibility. “Here, get this into ya.” He opened the pizza box and turned it to face me. I took a bite and moaned. It was so good. “How long you been up?” “An hour or so.” His black hair was damp and he smelled of salt water. “I didn’t hear you swim.” Which was surprising considering the living room opened up into the pool area. “Stealth mode,” he said with a grin, his blue eyes sparkling. “Nah. You were dead to the world.” I didn’t bother explaining that I didn’t get to sleep till after eight. I studied his face; there was a small scratch on his forehead and marks on his hands, probably from the glass or air bag. “How you feeling?” “Good.” And that was his problem. He always woke up feeling fine. Maybe if he’d ever suffered just one hangover in his life, he might think twice about drinking so much. “Your picture’s in the paper,” I said. “And photos of the car.” He grimaced for half a second before he took another forkful of curry. “You see Jeffrey?” I nodded. “He was here before eight this morning. He brought the paper with him.” Monroe stirred his curry, frowning. “Was he mad?” “Yep. Said he’ll have the insurance papers sent around for the car.” I took a bite of pizza and swallowed it. “Wanna tell me what happened last night?” He sighed. “Not really. I had one too many. You know how it is.” “One?” “Okay, a few.” “And you drove.” “I was fine.” “Your blood alcohol level was high range.” He frowned again, this time stabbing a piece of curried beef. “I was fine. I didn’t feel drunk at all.” I knew there was no point in arguing with him, so I tried a different approach. “You could have hurt yourself, Monroe,” I said gently. “Or someone else. You’re lucky it was a pole you hit and not a pedestrian or a car full of kids.” “Yeah, it was stupid, I know. I won’t do it again.” “Well, no, you can’t. Because now you don’t have a car or a licence.” He pointed his fork at me. “That is true. Well, there’s the old Discovery in the garage,” he said. “Haven’t driven that in a while.” “Old? It’s two years old,” I said. “And you’re not driving it anywhere. You get caught driving unlicensed now and the judge will likely throw the book at you to prove a point. Not to mention that unlicensed means uninsured.” “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he asked, giving me that sly grin that usually got him out of all kinds of trouble. “My sense of adventure is keeping you out of jail.” He chuckled and nudged me with his shoulder. “Always looking out for me,” he said. “Thanks, by the way, for coming to get me last night.” “I should have left you there,” I said, nudging him back. “In a cell with two guys named Warthog and Donk.” He laughed. “Sounds like a dream I had once. It didn’t end badly, let’s just say that much.” I snorted, unable to stay mad at him. And that was my problem. I could never stay mad at him. He put his curry down and took a slice of pizza, biting into it. “Mmm, this is good too. Hey, we should go out tonight. There’s a summer blues night on at the Wharf.” I shook my head, but he was, like always, relentless and charming and so fucking cute, and I could never say no to him. Which was another one of my problems. “Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s summer. We’ll have a swim, laze about for the afternoon, have a nap, then we can go out later. Who knows, you might even find some random to take home.” I forced a smile, like I always did. “Unlikely.” “Dunno why,” he said, oblivious. “You don’t look half bad,” he said with a smirk and a nudge. “If a young Robert Redford is your thing and you have more money than God. And fuck knows guys throw themselves at you.” “More money than God?” “Shut up, you know you do.” He pushed the pizza box away. “You know what your problem is, Erik?” Actually, I did. But I played along. “Nope, tell me what my problem is.” “You’re too picky.” I snorted. “Is that right?” “Yep. So tonight, when a guy looks twice at you, take him into the bathrooms.” “Not really my style, but thanks.” He laughed and stood up, then walked toward the pool. The glass doors were all pushed back, transforming the inside living area into a huge outdoor living area. He peeled off his shirt and stopped to face me. He looked even better in the sunlight. “Are you gonna lecture me about swimming after eating?” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” “Then get your arse into the pool with me. It’s too nice a day and life is too damn short.” He tossed his shirt and dived into the pool. And there were both our problems laid bare. His was that he shirked off all responsibility, drank far too much, and lived like every day was his last, which in his case, with his drinking problem and reckless nature, it very well could be. My problem was that I couldn’t stay mad at him and I couldn’t say no to him. Oh, that, and I was absolutely head over heels in love with him. Had been since we were eighteen years old. I was so in love with him, I’d let him treat me like a doormat if it just meant he’d keep me around. It was a sickness. He had his addiction, and he was mine. His addiction to alcohol was killing him. And watching him slowly spiral out of control, being so close to him but so far away, was killing me. Addiction, in all its forms, fucking sucked.
GIVEAWAY!
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Who’s a Good Boy
-- EXCERPT: Hazel nodded enthusiastically and held the plate in my direction. I took a brownie and Chopper whined at the brutal injustice of it all. While chewing, I tried to maintain a poker-face, but under the scrutiny of Hazel and Chopper, I couldn’t help but smile. “Mmmm… ok, all is forgiven.” Relief visibly washed over Hazel’s face, and sweet holy fuck what a beautiful face it was. Maybe she wasn’t the unfathomable angel I had assumed from a distance. Maybe she was even better. Hazel’s eyes flicked down to my bicep as I brought the brownie to my mouth for another bite, and I saw the tip of her tongue touch her lips for a second before she swallowed and looked me in the face again. Hazel, Hazel Rivera, was checking me out. “So what are you going to be doing with yourself over the summer, now that you’re free?” I asked. “Well, my friend Ella and I are hatching a scheme that would convince my parents to let me have a gap year. Other than that, just going to hang out with friends, maybe do a road trip before everybody scatters to the four corners of the world.” “How’s that going for you? The scheme.” “It’s… still unhatched, shall we say.” Before I’d been kicked out of school, I’d had my pick of the girls, it had always been pretty easy for me. Since then, I’d gradually stopped going to the local parties, so I wasn’t sure if I was merely rusty or what, but I had almost as much problems getting the next words out of my mouth as Hazel had explaining the brownies. “So… that’s the long-term plan, what about short term, like tonight?” “Huh?” I swallowed. “Well, if you didn’t have plans and wanted to make sure you’d properly apologized, I’m free tonight.” Hazel’s eyebrows rose along with one side of her mouth. “Oh really? I thought all was forgiven?” “Well… maybe I misspoke. I’m still pretty offended.” “Oh no…” “So, what do you say? Tonight? I could pick you up around seven?” “I can’t.” My heart lurched again. “But… I’m free this afternoon. Say four?” she asked, sheepishly. “Yep, I can work with that,” I said. A smile so pure and bright lit up her face that my only defense was to smile back. We stood there for a few seconds smiling like fucking idiots. “Uh… well, here.” She held out the plate. “These are yours. I gotta go, but I’ll see you at four. You know where I live, right?” I pointed in the direction of her house. “That’s it,” she said, taking a few steps backwards. “See you then.” She turned away as she spoke. “See you then,” I said, just barely loud enough for her to hear, before taking my own backwards steps away from the fence and turning around. “Hey Jeff?” she called. I turned. “It’s a date, right?” Her face was threatening to turn pink again. “It’s a date.” Hazel smiled and gave me a rueful ‘gotcha’ point of her finger. If I could have her smile at me like that every day, I’d be a happy man.
GIVEAWAY!
Title: The Confession Author: Kate Benson Genre: Contemporary Romance Cover Designer: Sean Benson at NativeSon Designs Publication Date: May 27th, 2019 Hosted by: Lady Amberâs Reviews & PR
Blurb:
Drake
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
What they donât tell you is that itâs also drenched in regret.
The moment she walked away, a piece of my soul went with her.
My heart hasnât beat the same since.
I know it wonât until I find her.
I brought her back from the dead once.
Now I need her to return the favor.
Analise
Being broken is never easy.
Itâs even harder when it comes at the hands of the one you love.
The weight took my breath, the need to flee became instinctual.
How do you stay when paradise is lost?
How do you breathe when your heart stops beating?
Karma doesnât come quietly.
Letâs hope absolution is a different story.
The confession is long overdue.
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Under the Skin
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Clock City
-- Q&A with Rebekah Dobson: Name/Pen Name: Rebekah Dodson Where do you get your ideas? Mostly from my muse, a close friend of mine, and watching people. And maybe a little from my students, lol What is your writing process like? I get up at 4am most days and write 2500 words. My day starts at 6am, then I teach college classes from 9am-5pm five days a week. Some days it’s hard to get up at 4am, so I have to double up on weekends. Usually I get in about 10,000-15,000 words on a Saturday. What is your writing Kryptonite? Quick burn romances. I can’t do it. My character talks and talk and fall in love SO slowly. It’s annoying sometimes. How do you deal with writers block? I travel! Seriously. I take the train often, talk to people, go to big cities. I get tons of ideas! Do you write under different pen names? Not yet! When did you write and publish your first book? What was the name of your book? I wrote my frist book, Postcards from Paris, in December of 2013. I was in grad school at the time, and going through some rough things. I really poured my heart and some personal experiences into that book. A fellow students of mine started a publishing company and offered to publish it, and put a TON of faith into my work. Postcards was published on March 6, 2014! I’ve written a book a month ever since! Who is your favorite author and Why? I love Cassandra Clare’s Mortal Instrument series, but I’m also a huge fan of Stephen King, RA Salvatore, Terry Goodkind, David Gemmel, Nora Roberts, and Charlaine Harris. For India authors I adore Brooklyn Knight, Candace Osmond, and RA Steffan. Their books will ALWAYS be a one-click for me. How many unpublished or half written books do you have? Probably at least 20. 30? What kind of research do you do and how long before writing your book? I usually research as I write, to be honest. I rarely know what my characters are going to pull/do. The current series I’m working on it What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex? Not much, actually. My bestselling series, The Curse of Lanval, is from my male main character’s perspective, Guillaume Lanval. Most of my romances are from both male and female first person perspectives. I really enjoy writing from the male perspective, actually. How long do you try to write daily? An hour or two. Some days I can only voice text a few sentences, but I get them in. Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with good and bad reviews? All the time. The harsest one was when a reader gave me 3-stars before she “couldn’t remember the book.” That made me cry. I never advertise that book anymore, but I read it every few months and determine to be more interesting than that book. For good reviews I sometimes share them with the world, but primarily I have the same reaction. Every time someone leave me a review, good or bad, I just enjoy the fact someone read it! What’s your favorite genre to read? Urban fantasy and high fantasy mostly, but I also love historical romances. Do you hide secrets that only a few people will find or easter eggs in your books? OH yes. Most of my characters are related, and their worlds are fundamentally changed by Gill’s time traveling. I’m just hoping someone figures it out someday. What was your hardest scene to write? In Postcards from Moscow, my ballerina, Jacqueline, was a pill addict, and I had to write a scene where Vasily, the man who loves her, finds her not breathing on a bathroom floor. He revives her, but then he walks away. It was so hard to write that scene because I wanted them to be together SO bad, but it wasn’t going to happen, not until Jaqui got her stuff together. A close second is the moment that Guillaume loses someone he loves in the my time travel fantasy, Merlin. When I had to kill that character I felt his anguish and I cried all the way through it with him. Do you write with music in the background or does it have to be silent? I need music!! If it’s a fight scene for a fantasy novel, I’ve got to have some wacky Voltaire or Mary Cromwell or Shyfer James in the the background, maybe a little Cog is Dead or Steampunk Giraffe. I also love my 90’s romance songs (Savage Garden, Backstreet Boys, and Britney Spears) for romances. Sometimes you’ll even heard a little Five Finger Death Punch in there! Do you have a favorite thing to snack on while you write? Gummy bears. It’s really an addiction at this point… How much do your readers’ interests influence your writing? SO much. I actually have some fans that suggest directions and I almost always use them. My biggest fan is actually my beta reader now and I love her! If you could tell your younger writing self anything…What would it be? PLEASE write that damn book and publish it, even though you don’t think you are good enough! I published my first book when I was 30, and I wish I hadn’t waited. Any advice to other writers? Always get your product as polished as possible. Hire an editor, pay a lot for a cover. Find your tribe of other authors to support you and ask them for advice, often! Don’t pay for anything until people agree that it’s a good venture, otherwise you’ll waste a lot of money and time on poor quality professionals. Also, find your readers, and reward the crap out of them. Don’t lose those precious readers at any cost.
GIVEAWAY!
Title: The Vogt House
Author: Quinn Slater
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Cover Designer: Silla Webb/Masque of the Red Pen
Publication Date: May 24th, 2019
Blurb:
The Vogt House is looking for a new owner. Someone rich. Someone willing to explore and expand its fairytale existence in the town of Decadence.Cy Hall, the newest Powerball winner, a man with wicked dreams, and the money to make all his dreams come true takes a liking to Vogt House. But Vogt House has its own plans for Cy, plans that take him into the fairytales of his youth. Plans that include most of the people in his life. And a plan to turn him into a creature of the night.In Vogt House dreams, fairytales and nightmares do come true.
Quinn Slater lives in a large town in Kentucky where many of his stories take place. His writing career began in mainstream fiction where he has published five novels. But then he found a delicious appetite for writing erotic fiction. As one college professor put it, âYou need to go write the dirty stuff.â And thatâs exactly what he did.
Quinnâs work features strong male and female protagonists and antagonist, all of who have just the right amount of sexy with a healthy dose of naughtiness. He was once asked why he turned to erotica. The answer was simple. He wanted to put characters in compromising situations and see how their carnal appetites helped them find a way to a pleasurable ending.
Author Links:
Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/quinnslater
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