Happy Tuesday, everyone!
K. Evan Coles and I are delighted to share with you that the first book, “Wake”, is available for pre-order on Pride Publishing’s site!
Here is a short teaser from it:
By the time the performance was over, Riley’s chest was tight, his pulse raced and he felt flushed and jittery. He wondered if he was having an anxiety attack. He’d paid no more attention to the final act of the opera than he had the first two, although this time he’d rarely glanced at Carter.
He’d been too busy trying to muster up the courage to say the words he needed to say to his friend. Riley helped his wife into her coat, trying to think of what to tell her about why he wasn’t going home with her.
Once they were outside in the crisp November air, Riley found their car, waving away the driver’s help when he moved to open the doors for them. Riley snagged Alex’s elbow before she could climb in. “Carter and I are going out for a drink. I’ll probably be a few hours.”
Alex huffed and pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ll call the girls to see what they want to do. Maybe they’ll be more fun than my husband.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” he said softly. He was sorry he wasn’t in love with her, sorry he couldn’t be who she wanted him to be. He was sorry he was abandoning her to run off to his secret apartment to spill his heart out to the man he had feelings for. Jesus, my life is way too fucking complicated, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I mean it.” He stared down at Alex for a long moment before drawing her close to him. “I’m sorry our relationship isn’t better.”
“I’m used to it by now,” she replied archly and pulled away.
With a sigh, he let go of her, knowing no apologies would excuse the way he’d disrupt her life when he came out.
He watched her drive away, then turned to find Carter. It didn’t take him long. Carter stood beside the fountain outside the Met, silhouetted against the brightly lit water. Though Carter’s face was shadowed, Riley would know his body anywhere. The broadness of his shoulders, the length of his legs—Riley imagined touching every inch of him.
Slowly he made his way toward Carter, their gazes locking as Riley drew near. “Ready to head out?”
Carter nodded. “Yeah, Kate’s on her way home.”
Riley gave the driver of the cab that they eventually found the address—296 West 10th Street in the West Village—and settled in his seat with a sigh. Neither man spoke much, although Riley was aware of the heat of Carter’s thigh against his own, through the layers of their tux pants. Carter’s knee seemed to rub against his every so often. Carter’s height and long legs made him sprawl when he sat, but somehow Riley suspected the touch wasn’t accidental. Or maybe he simply hoped so.