Okay– I admit it. I was going to take the easy way out and just post my usual release day book info and bail. But then I got a lovely Christmas card (only a little late) from the wonderful Zach Sweets, who said that he was a fan of the blog.
Okay– I have a soft spot for Zach and his husband and their fur-babies.
And I have the perfect Zoomboy story to tell before I post my usual release day stuff.
See– we went to SacAnime this weekend. For those of you who thought I was all research when I wrote Ethan in Gold, the fact is, I dragged my kids to conventions first. A long time ago, I was recruited to do a signing for a lovely store (alas, now no more) called The Gilded Bat, and they hooked me up with The Little Vampires people, and I loved them– nay, adored them. And my family? They were hooked on conventions from that point on. Zoomboy brought in a hooded blanket and cosplayed the Little Vampires, Squish got a picture of Bugs Bunny from the guy who drew him and voiced him in the Looney Tunes movie, and we have been hooked on the lovely coming together of fans and talent ever since.
So when Chicken and her brother had tickets for SacAnime, and her brother couldn’t make it on Friday, well, we were happy to accompany her. Besides the vendor floor (and don’t ask me about my alpaca problem, seriously. Don’t.) We managed to make it to one panel: Steve Blum.
Now I was sort of thrilled– I actually recognized Steve Blum– in particular, Mate and I watched a lot of Transformers when the big kids were small, and we loved Starscream, but we were really surprised by our hipness quotient when his voices were familiar. Oh my gods– we knew who this guy was!
And that really reflected well on us, because he was sweet. He was charming. When one of the audience members asked him why he did this– because it was exhausting–he responded promptly, “Because you guys are the best part of my business.” He meant it– and it’s so much why I adore going to cons when I’m on the other side of the microphone, that I just adored him from that moment on.
So I really did want to ask him a question– but my feet have been giving me hell, so I wasn’t going to stand in line. Zoomboy did it instead. He was a quirky little figure, still mostly kid-sized, wearing a bright red Angry Bird’s hat as he be-bopped along until it was his time to answer the question.
Steve Blum– who obviously has dealt with his share of the shorter variety of fan, was charmed.
“Well hello! What can I do for you?”
Zoomboy stood up straight and adjusted the microphone, his big brown eyes sober as he addressed the adult at the podium.
“Do you have kids, and if you do, have you ever yelled at them in your cartoon voice?”
Mr. Blum did not shortchange answers– he gave Zoomboy a very nice story about how he didn’t really yell at his kids, but occasionally he did find a voice that freaked out his mostly grown children, and how when they were younger, he would volunteer to read at their school and get chewed out because “That’s not how Dr. Seuss sounds!”
When he was done, Zoomboy was still looking at him soberly.
“So, my children really didn’t get yelled at,” Mr. Blum finished. “Do you get yelled at a lot?”
Zoomboy’s eyes widened, and Mr. Blum manfully choked back on the laughter.
“Did you deserve to get yelled at?” he asked, obviously familiar with this variety of fish.
Zoomboy adjusted the microphone carefully. “Yes,” he answered, his voice distinct, and then he turned around and wandered back through the line then clambered over the laps of the people between him and his family.
We were dying, and so was the audience, and like I said, Mr. Blum had been charmed from the first.
So it was every bit as magical as I remembered it, and once again we were especially charmed by the number of costumes we saw. I didn’t take many pictures, but the corner we stood on as we walked back to the car definitely deserved an attempt. Yes, that’s a unicorn. No, uhm, I didn’t try to pet it.
I also included a picture of a baby hat, because I guess I need to vent a little.
Three days before Christmas I got a text from our old neighbor, the woman who had such a hard time with pregnancy that she could barely get out of bed. Well, the family has since moved into an apartment, and she is on her fourth baby. She’s wanted a hat.
She’s due tomorrow.
She offered to pay for it, and I declined, because honestly? (And all my knitters know this by now) our time is more valuable than she can afford. This needed to be done for friendship or not at all. .
I know– you’re all thinking it. I don’t have time to knit gifts for people I love–and this is sort of an imposition. And then she started asking for specifics. It had to be TINY (that hat there has a 14 inch circumference– classic newborn) and it had to be alpaca, small gauge yarn, and it had to be black. Because her other son’s hat was plain charcoal gray, and she thought that was adorable. (Dudes⌠a newborn in a black hat. It’s⌠I can’t even⌠anywayâŚ)
So, uhm, yeah. An imposition.
And she came and got it today, and texted me a little later. I was napping when she came by, which is good, because if we’d had this exchange face to face I might have gotten persnickety.
“It’s too big– if I wash and dry it, do you think I can shrink it so it will fit on my tiny baby’s head?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but it won’t feel the same, and it might not hold up to a washer and a drier without losing the softness.”
“Well what can I do to make it fit without ruining it?”
“Roll back the brim.”
“Okay! I’ll try that.”
o.o
I mean⌠you know. o.o
Dudes. I just⌠I can’t even⌠anything I could say right now would not be neighborly, kind, or generous, but oooooohâŚ. Mary is going to get an earful tomorrow because she’ll pat me on the head and shine me on and make me feel stupid for being miffed, and yet miffed I am.
Anyway, all that being said, (and I love you, Zach!) I have a release today!
Description:
Dawson Barnes recognizes his world is very small and very charmed. Running his community college theater like a petty god, he and his best friend, Benji know they’ll succeed as stage techs after graduation. His father adores him, Benji would die for him, and Dawson never doubted the safety net of his family, even when life hit him below the belt.
But nothing prepared him for falling on Jared Emory’s head.
Aloof dance superstar Jared is a sweet, vulnerable man and Dawson’s life suits him like a fitted ballet slipper. They forge a long-distance romance from their love of the theater and the magic of Denny’s. At first it’s perfect: Dawson gets periodic visits and nookie from a gorgeous man who âgetsâ himâand Jared gets respite from the ultra-competitive world of dancing that almost consumed him.
That is until Jared shows up sick and desperate and Dawson finally sees the distance between them concealed painful things Jared kept inside. If he doesnât grow upâand fastâhis “superstar” might not survive his own weaknesses. That would be a shame, because the real, fragile Jared that Dawson sees behind the curtain is the person he can see spending his life with.
Excerpt:
Introit
DAWSON LOVED the guy like a brother, but seriously, he was going to kill him for this. âYou left it where?â
Benji Gomez grimaced, the little divots at the corner of his apple cheeks growing deeper. âWell, I didnât really leave it, but itâs up on the catwalk.â
âSo, like, your five-pound physics book can come catapulting out of the sky onto the stage at any given momentâthatâs what youâre telling me.â
âI really donât think itâs going to come catapulting from anywhere, Dawson. Itâs justâŚ.â
Dawson looked up above the stage and noticed that the third light, back tier, was still crooked. âBenji, youâre killing me. I got you this gig so you could get some hours inâyou know, join the guild, we could beââ
Benji nodded. âYeah, I know. Backstage brothers. I hear you. But I want a degree to go with that guild, you know that!â
Dawson knew. Light and sound engineering so he could design the stage productions. Heâd be good at it tooâif anyone on the planet still wanted to work with him when he screwed up like this. âYeah, but dude! Look at it! Whatâs the degree going to get you when youâre the techie who beans the biggest star our stupid theater has ever seen!â
Jared Emoryâstar of the Los Angeles Ballet, was coming here to frickinâ Rocklin, California, for a four-day gig. Go figure. Dawson hadnât seen him yet, but heâd heard girls squealing about him all week. Dawson had been too busy rewiring the light boardâwith Benjiâs help, actually, so maybe Dawson should shut up about his fuckups.
It didnât help that Benji, his best friend since kindergarten, was looking at him with soulful brown eyes and a smirk. God. Dawson was such a sucker for that look. Benji had a planâBenjiâs plans were always the best fun.
âOkay, okay,â Dawson muttered. âIâll go get your book.â Dawsonâs boss wasnât supposed to know Benji had been working on this designâBenji wasnât in the guild yet. But if Dawson could get his professor to sign off on Benjiâs volunteer work, he could be in the guild, and then Benji could quit waiting tables and Dawson and his buddy could be the joined-at-the-hip twins theyâd always been.
Of course, Dawson might be better off finding someone he could be joined at the groin with instead, since Benjiâs unrequited crush on his fitness instructor had sucked up what little free time he had between work and school. It was patheticâBenji swore he was making progress with the lovely Darian Ritter but Dawson kept telling him the poor girl probably didnât know Benjiâs name.
But then, Dawson thought, looking at Benjiâs boundless enthusiasm as he tried to work the curtain, that unrequited thing sort of followed Benji around, didnât it?
âHere,â Dawson snarked. âYou call that stagecraft?â
Benji rolled his eyes. âI taught you how to do this, Dawson.â
âYeah, and I passed you upâyouâre making it jerk like a duck with hiccups.â
âNice metaphor, smartassâoh shitâwhoâs out there?â
âWhoâs out⌠oh crap!â
The voice that floated across the stage was a surprising light baritone, a dry sort of voice, with no rough edges. âThereâs a shadow here. Man, did someone leave something on the catwalk?â
Dawson and Benji exchanged agonized glances. âIâll get it,â Dawson mouthed, because in spite of the fact that he tended to knock stuff over with his elbows and bony hips when he walked, he was the one with the guild credentials to actually be up on the catwalk when it wasnât a school production.
âNo!â Benji got distracted sometimes when he was studying, but that was because schoolwork didnât come easily to him. When it was something physical, he moved like a silken dancing god, in spite of broad shoulders and biceps that had been expanding exponentially since high school. If he could deliver a line with any semblance of organic humanity, he would be on the other side of the stage.
And when he was trying to save Dawsonâs assâwhich was how Dawson had survived high school, franklyâhe could move with shocking speed.
Which was why he ended up on the catwalk, scampering like some sort of tree animal, to get his book back.
And how Dawson ended up right behind him, because Dawson didnât have the sense God gave a fucking tree animal.
Benji didnât make a sound as he skittered along the walk, grabbed the book, and headed back, because the stairs up the walk only hung from one side. Unfortunately, that was where Dawson was, clinging to the dusty iron with clammy hands. Every muscle in Benjiâs body tensed as he literally ass-clenched to a halt, sending the catwalk swinging on the iron chains attached to the ceiling, and Dawson startled backward to give him some room.
The catwalk swayed and one of Dawsonâs hands slipped. Benji dropped his physics book and grabbed his hand, and Dawsonâs other hand splanged out as he tried to get his balance. The physics book went fluttering and thumping to the stage as Benji grabbed that flailing hand. Except the near hand was under the catwalk rail, so Dawson ended up with the corner post of the catwalk in his chest, and that was when his feet lost purchase and when Benji ended up hanging over the catwalk with the post digging in his neck, holding Dawson above the stage.
âOh fuck,â Dawson said, and Benji rolled his eyes, grimacing in an attempt not to let Dawson fall, grime from the catwalk smudging his long-jawed brown face.
Dawson grimaced back at him, squinting at all of the dislodged dust that was falling in his eyes, and then some of it hit his nose and the sneezing fit took care of the rest.
He plummeted the remaining eight feet to the stage, smart enough to let his legs collapse as soon as his feet hit and dumb enough to let his head bonk as his spine unspooled on the wooden stage.
âDawson!â Benji yelled, and it was gratifying, really, how worried he sounded. Fourteen years of friendship really did mean something to the guy, in spite of how much time he spent in the gym trying to get the pretty girl fitness trainer with the limpid brown eyes and adorable tiny nose to pinch his taut round ass.
âFine,â Dawson said automatically. His head ached and he could still see stars. Of course, he was looking up into the blackness of the stage ceiling and all the lights were on, so maybe that was it.
âFine?â
Dawson swallowed. Okay, there were stars in front of his vision, and they were getting in the way of the prettiest man Dawson had ever seen.
Ink-black hair, mercury-blue eyesâand they looked real too, not contactsâand perfectly eye shaped. Round in the middle, pointy on the sides, and wide. Dark stubble carelessly covered a square jaw and a perfectly angled chin. There might even have been a hint of a divot under that stubble, but Dawson was too busy looking at the firm, not-too-pillowy, not-too-lean mouth, and the way the perfectly rectangular eyebrows were arched in surprise and concern.
âHey,â Dawson said, blinking up at the perfectly perfect man. âSorry. Did you want something?â
âWell, I was hoping techies wouldnât be crashing on my head during an actual performance,â Too-Pretty replied. Which meantâŚ.
âOh shit. Jared. Iâm sorry.â Dawson started to push up and then his neck and head both creaked.
Benji thundered up in a minute, rolling his eyes and pushing Dawson down. âJesus, Dawsonâif Iâd known youâd wanted to be a trapeze artist, I would have studied something totally different!â
Dawson squinted up at him. âYeah. âCause thatâs why we go to school. To be acrobats.â
âYour sarcasm is functional. Time to get up.â
âWaitâhe could be hurt!â
Dawson smiled at Jared Too-Pretty. âHeâs nice,â he said, looking at Benji for agreement.
Benji was scowling at the pretty man, though, and didnât respond. âHe could be hurt,â Benji said dryly, âbut Iâd be more seriously worried if I hadnât seen him do something like this every month for the last fourteen years.â
Dawson giggled. âHeh heh heh⌠the time I fell out of the car when it was moving was the best.â
âYou were in the hospital for three days. Not the best. Not even close. Howâre the stars?â
Dawson squinted and realized that the swimming baby fish in his vision were receding into darkness except when he looked at Jared. âMostly setting. He seems to be collecting them, though.â Dawson smiled at his star-sieve. âYouâre like the king of pretty. Do you collect stars for a reason, or do they just gather around you âcause youâre so bright?â
Jared startled back, looking indignant. âIs he feeding me a line?â
âOh, you wish,â Benji snapped protectively. âIf he was half that smooth, heâd have gotten laid by now. Câmon, Lothario, let me help you up.â
Benjiâs big hands moved tenderly on his neck and shoulders as Dawson sat up and counted the fish. Benji started rubbing gently with his thumbs and suddenly Jared spoke, that light baritone getting sharp all of a sudden.
âDo you have any idea what youâre doing?â
âI learned this in football,â Benji said. âSports medicine was going to be my major.â
âYour major.â Dawson looked up to see Jared Too-Pretty arching one of those oddly rectangular eyebrows, and he wondered if anyone else heard Your major. Isnât that a laugh given that youâre in a teeny-tiny junior college in a Podunk town on the edge of the Northern California Bible Belt, and stop rubbing his neck or youâll give him brain damage packed into the three little syllables.
âBenjiâs smart,â Dawson said, melting into Benjiâs touch and the comfort of the guy heâd known forever. âBenjiâs my brother.â
âBrothers.â How did he do that? He didnât even put a question mark at the end of it. He just let his silence etch in a zillion words. Brothers, even though neither of you look alike and youâre obviously both the same age and heâs a Latin god and youâre a pale collection of elbows, knees, and earsâI remain skeptical.
âYup,â Benji said, rubbing a comfortable hand from the base of Dawsonâs skull down his spine to his lower back. âAnd brother, youâre good to goâIâve got a class.â
Benji stood, and before he could get into place to offer Dawson a hand up, Jared was there, sending Benji a look from under brooding black brows.
Benji narrowed his eyes. âBe careful with him,â he said after a moment. He nodded at Dawson and Dawson took that as a cue to trust the amazing-looking dancer with the mercury-blue eyes. He put his hand in Jaredâs and felt himself gently and bonelessly pulled upright, and then turned around while Jared felt his back and manipulated the muscles at the base of his skull like a pro.
âHowâs your vision?â he asked tersely.
Dawson focused on his fish-free feet.
âNo longer swimming,â he said. âOr is that âswimmingly,â you know, like Cary Grant would say? âMy vision is doing swimmingly, darling, I can almost walk on two feet now.ââ
âIâll take that as âgood,ââ Jared said dryly, and Dawson wanted to step on his foot.
âReally? You donât respond at all. I mean, I practically fell on top of your head, you knowâa little wonder? A few quips? Some laughter to ease the tension?â
Jaredâs amazingly firm fingers kneaded into the base of Dawsonâs skull some more. âIf you were any less tense youâd be comatose,â he said without inflection. âNow, did your friend really just run to his next class without his book?â
âOh fuck!â Dawson lunged away from those amazing hands to grab the book off the ground and winced as his shoulders threatened to seize up. He tried to turn his head to talk to the dancing mangod, but that hurt his neck, so he ended up turning his whole body and backing up. âHey, could you tell Professor Weber Iâll be back in a sec? Iâm getting double duty for this oneâmoney from the tech guild and credit for the class. I donât want him to think Iâm shirkâoh fuck!â He ran into a stack of flats and they went slithering down across the floor. âOh God, Iâll fix thaâouch!â And he stumbled down the stairs and off the stage onto his ass. âOh Jesus. Donât worry. Donât come over. Iâve got to find Benji or heâll spaz out. Ouch. Thatâs gonna hurt. Fuck.â Fumbling with the book, Dawson scrambled to his feet, actually turned around, and staged a tactical retreat.
He got to Benji right before he walked into the science building, and gasped out his name.
Benji turned, his almond-shaped brown eyes widening. âYou brought me the book?â he asked. Dawson grabbed hold of the doorframe, bent double, and tried to get his breath. Benji fished in his pocket for his asthma inhaler and offered itâtheyâd shared the same prescription since kindergarten, which had been where theyâd bonded. In the nurseâs office, both of them hyperventilating into paper bags while the nurse double-checked their paperwork.
Dawson nodded and took a hit of albuterol, then handed back the inhaler and struggled to catch his breath.
âWhereâs yours?â Benji asked sternly. Dawson gestured vaguely back to the stage, where his backpack sat in a dark corner. âDammit, DawsonâI left you near your backpack, with your inhaler, with a perfectly nice hottie rubbing your back, and you kill yourself to give me a book?â
Dawson took one more breath and decided he could stand up. âThe damned book was what had me falling on the stage in the first place!â he argued.
Benji glared at him. Dawson studied his shoes.
âOkay. Fine. The book was my excuse to leave.â
âAnd why would you want to do that?â
Dawson wiggled his toes inside his tennis shoes and watched the rubber over the Converse canvas ripple. âHe was bossy.â
Benji sighed and took two steps away from the building, looking down at Dawsonâs wiggling toes and waiting for Dawson to look him in the eyes. âDawson, you know I love you, right?â
âYeah.â Of course. No doubts. Benji loved him just like a brother.
âThen I need you to find a guy who loves you like a boyfriend, okay?â
Dawson hated this conversation. âDarian still wonât give you the time of day.â
Benji held the book, with its newly broken binding and teased and fluffy pages, in one hand. âPossibly not,â he said with arched eyebrows, âbut I was hoping sheâd let me read off her book.â
âWhat theâI didnât even know she had this class!â Dawson stood up and glared at him indignantly. Benji grinned back, his eyes lazy and deceptively innocent.
âOh. Oh. OoooohhhhâŚ.â
âOh.â Benjiâs voice was flat and infused with meaning, and Dawson actually realized that he and Jared had that much in common.
âI have had it up to my eyeballs with guys who communicate with one syllable, do you get me? Done. Finished. Completely.â Dawson turned around and started back to the ugly theater with the green copper roof and the big fake owls hanging from each corner to scare the starlings.
âDawson, Iâll see you at home tonight!â
âYour turn to bring dinner, ass hat,â Dawson grumbled, and Benji laughed, probably because he knew it was actually Dawsonâs turn, and Dawson was due for the cleanup too. But Benji would bring it anyway, because he was Dawsonâs boy and heâd feel bad about the inhaler and the book and Dawson falling from the catwalk.
Benji really was that good of a guy.
Which didnât quite make up for the fact that Jared was gone when Dawson got back to the theater. The flats had been restacked, the curtain returned to its original position, and light 3F had actually been positioned correctly, complete with the half gel Dawson had wanted but Benji hadnât put on it.
And Dawsonâs serviceable black backpack sat on the corner of the apron, leaning against the proscenium, like somebody had found it and wanted to put it out for when its owner came back.
âNice job, Dawson.â Professor Weberâs voice was surprisingly short on irony, and Dawson looked out into the darkness to see his tiny bent form as he hobbled out of the tech room and down the aisle. Professor Weber had spent his life in the theater, doing tech when he got too old to act and teaching when doing tech was too hard on the body. He used to direct a play a year at Sierra College, but in the past five years, heâd turned that over to the local theater guild, supervising the facility use only. He was probably in his eighties, and Dawsonâwho had been raised by a very patient father and appreciated a patriarch who didnât want to kill him after a minute and a halfâsort of loved the old geezer.
For one thing, heâd been exceedingly gay in a time when nobody wanted to admit theater majors were often exceedingly gay, and heâd managed to come through that and not hate everybody including himself.
For another, he got Benji and Dawson, and not many people bought the whole âplatonic friends since diapersâ thing, especially teachers, which was why theyâd frequently sat at the far corners of any room within the first week of class.
That usually lasted until the second week of class, when the teachers claimed their psychic vibrations were fucking unnerving. (Okay, that was one teacher, but most of them conceded that they were actually less disruptive when they could sit next to each other. If nothing else, Dawson helped Benji with his homework and Benji helped Dawson get there on time and remember what day it was. A match made in kindergarten, if not heaven.)
Professor Weber had watched them push-pull each other through their first year at school and had declared them âbrothers of the heartââand had let them be. Occasionally he gave them a little bit of help, like now, when he was going to sign off on Benjiâs hours for the guild.
âI didnât do it all, Professor,â Dawson said now, looking at the stage dubiously. âIn fact, I came back to fix the stuff I knocked over and try to reposition that lightâI think the bolt is stripped.â
They both looked over Dawsonâs shoulder as the light fell out of position and sort of hung, dangling, facing the floor.
âCan Benji fix it, do you think?â The professor had a faint accentâDawson wasnât sure where it was from, whether it was Yiddish or Polish, but he loved it. The remnants of his white hair tufted out from behind his ears, and his nose was unapologetically rumpled and large.
âProbablyâheâs good with that stuff.â
âIf he canât, Iâll get the custodian.â Professor Weber nodded earnestly, but Dawson shook his head. The custodian assigned to the theater sort of hated themâor, well, Dawson had maybe said something disparaging about his intelligence level in his hearing, so maybe he had causeâbut Benji was better at that physical stuff anyway.
âNo, Benji can do it,â Dawson told him. He hopped up on the apron and grabbed his backpack, noticing a piece of paper fluttering away from the back. He picked it up curiously.
Take two Motrin and stay away from catwalks. âJ
Fish. Fish mouth open, fish mouth closed. Gasp for air. Close mouth. Blink. Stare at professor. Remember to speak.
âWho is it from?â
âUhm, Jaredâyou know, Emory? The dancer?â
âHe was here? Whatâs he like?â Suddenly the gray hair and corrugated bloodshot skin became insignificant, and the rheumy eyes sharpened to angel blue. âI hear he is a handsome boy.â
Dawson allowed himself to moon a little. âProf, he would turn your knees to waterââ
âAnd your other parts to stone, yeah?â
He could almost feel those strong fingers kneading into his back. âYeah,â he agreed, nodding emphatically. Carefully he folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. âAll parts would be affected.â
Professor Weber laughed and then grew very sober. âGood,â he said. âBenji canât be your world forever.â
Dawson swallowed. âYeah, so everybody says.â Including Benji, who was the only person whose motives Dawson didnât question.
Benji loved him. That wasnât going away.
âLook, Prof,â he said, pulling out his phone and grimacing. âIâve got an English Comp professor whoâs going to crucify me if I donât get my ass in gear. Benji and I will be back tonight after he gets off work, okay?â
âYeah, sure. You still go swimming in the afternoons?â
âYeah-huh!â Dawson ran lightly down the apron. Without pausing, he put a hand on the rail for the stairs up to the stage and swung himself down in one heave. âLeave a message on my phone if you need me, okay?â
âYeah, sure,â Professor Weber said, waving his hand. He had a little office along the side hall by the stage, with a comfortable corduroy couch that was known to occupy his afternoons until his son came to pick him up. The theater department could probably be made vital and thriving with a newer, younger professor at the helm, but nobody wanted to displace Weber. He was an institution.
Dawson waved good-bye and went tripping off into the chilly February afternoon.
AT SIX oâclock, the indoor pool in the relatively new gym complex had no aqua aerobics, no recreational swimmers, and, often, nobody but Dawson, doing laps in that happy, mind-numbing splashy echo of one person in a swimming pool. Heâd been on the swim team in high school and had won a handful of bronze medals, but nobody had ever accused him of being a superstar. That didnât stop his love of what swimming did for his body.
He was doing his cool-down lap, backstroke, so he could float a little and feel the blessed pull of his arms in the water, and play with the drift to see how quickly and how far one stroke could haul him. And then another. He let his feet bob and stuck his toes through the water and heaved himself back with satisfying double-armed strokes closing his eyes and drifting in for the last few feet. His hand bumped the edge of the pool and he looked upâŚ.
And right into the blue-mercury eyes of Jared Emory.
His hands went up and his elbows shot out and his ass sank down and his knees rose up and for an entire nanosecond he was 155 pounds of thrashing limbs and blinking eyes under the blue. A hand of steel latched under his arm and he remembered he had a brain and actually grabbed hold of the edge of the pool and caught his breath.
Jared Emory was still there, water dripping from his hair, his gray hoodie, his jeans, and his spectacular eyebrows, which were now raised to his hairline.
âYou just did that.â Again, that uninflected voice, but Dawson wasnât stupid. I canât even believe you are this stupid, clumsy, and weird. You disgust me. Dawson could hear all the things Jared didnât really say, and as usual, he couldnât fix them.
âApparently so,â he said, pulling his swim goggles up so he could get a better look at Jaredâs sardonic black-fringed eyes.
âDo people actually let you out by yourself? Do you have to apply for a pass? They donât assign you a keeper?â
âWell, usually there is a keeperâbut heâs on a date.â Because against all odds, Benji had convinced the super-adorable Princess Darian to grab a bite to eat before Benjiâs shift at the little Mexican food place off Taylor.
âThat guy doesnât count,â Jared snapped, annoyed.
âThat guy was born for the job,â Dawson declared with dignity. âNow was there something I can do for you, or were you just here to scare the crap out of me?â
Jared stood up and brushed water from his zippered hoodie and smoothed it from his hair too. âI need to rent you.â
Dawson swiped water from his eyes and tried to process that. âIâm not that kind of a boy.â
âNo, idiotâI need a techie for tomorrow. My manager said if you were working the stage you had to be guild, and he set it up with the school. Iâm running a free dance workshop tomorrow, and we didnât get the staff set up yet.â Jared looked uncomfortable for a minute. âThe kids are disabled. They want to dance across a stage with lights and music and think theyâre superstars, and I need lights and music.â
Dawson mentally consigned his two hardest classes to the four winds. âThatâs really fucking awesome. Iâm in. What do you need?â
âYou. Out of the pool.â
âAnd presumably in clothes and dried off.â Dawson grinned, because that went without saying if he was going to run the light board. Eschewing the ladder, which meant going under the four lane lines to his right, he put his hands on the pegs of the starterâs platform and hauled himself up. It was awkward, which was why nobody did it, and as he was scrambling to get his foot on the concrete while he sprawled on the rough platform on his stomach, he felt two impatient hands on his thighs helping him swing around and find his feet. The platform scraped across his abdomen and he let out a startled squawk, pushing himself up and backward and right into Jared Emoryâs arms.
âOolf!â Jared staggered back, but, well, he was a dancer, and with a little help from his own bare feet on the wet concrete, Dawson found himself pushed back up and steadied.
The echoes of their thrashing died around them, and the pool house fell awkwardly silent.
âUhm, yeah. Thanks,â Dawson grunted, looking at his abnormally long feet and feeling stupid.
âDonât thank me,â Jared snapped. âClothe me! God, Iâm sopping wet and all my shitâs at the hotel!â
Dawson turned around and grimaced, because sure enough, Jared Emory, star of stage, sky, and stratosphere, really was standing across from him sopping wet.
âI, uh, have some extra clothes in my bag,â Dawson muttered, and yes, it was true, but it meant he was going to have to put on the clothes heâd worn into the gym, and they still had some of that dayâs hot dog and chocolate cake, which heâd had for lunch, smeared on the front.
But, well, it wasnât Jaredâs fault he was a spaz, either.
âWhich way to the locker rooms?â Jared asked. His lower lip thrust out sulkily, but he sounded civil, so that was a plus.
âUhm, follow me!â Dawson chirped, hoping to make up some goodwill.
Jaredâs gaze swept from Dawsonâs swimmerâs shoulders, down his back, down his backside, and to his long and narrow feet.
âNo,â he said flatly, and although his hair was dark, his skin was fair enough for Dawson to see the dull red wash up his cheekbones.
Dawson reached behind him to make sure his Speedos werenât sagging.
âDonât make them tighter,â Jared commanded, and Dawson froze, midwedgie.
âUhm, okay.â Dawson grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his shoulders. âUhm, lead the wayâaround the pool, toward the back, look for the little stick guy with two legs instead of a skirt.â
âIâll do that.â Youâre babbling, and because somehow your Speedo has offended me mightily, Iâm going to be shitty and snarkastic until we no longer have to interface, so deal with it.
âYou know, youâre the one who startled me.â Dawson felt compelled to remind him of this, because right now Jared was going to be wearing pants that were short and a shirt that was too tight, and considering he seemed to be a genuinely awesome guy, this was not the impression Dawson had ever wanted to make.
âIâm sorry.â
Dawson waited to hear the subtext, but nothing was forthcoming. âUhm, you are?â
âI didnât mean to startle you.â And now youâre belaboring the point.
âYou move like a cheetah.â
Without warning Jared whirled around, shoulders hunched in a classic theater exercise of a stalking cat. Dawson squawked and backpedaled, running right into the wall, and Jared laughed silently and turned back around to the locker room.
âNice,â Dawson said. He was trying to keep the whole âarrogant-nerdâ vibe going, but the truth? He could hear his heart doing an entire tap-dance chorus in his ears, and the thrum of his pulse was actually beating in his wrists. Jared Emory was beautiful, and for an equally beautiful second, Dawson had been afraid (hoped!) the guy would eat him alive.
âSometimes. When you want me to be.â
Dawson listened for the subtext, and for a moment, he thought he heard an entire hallelujah chorus of it being shrieked in Latin. It was loud enough to echo in the silent locker rooms, but then, Dawson didnât speak Latin.
âUhm. I, uhm. Yeah. Hereâs my locker.â Jared leaned against the adjacent one and Dawsonâs hands shook as he rotated the tumbler. âOnce around right, thirty-one, once around left, seventeen, straight right to twenty, andââ He tugged on the lock and it thunked, securely closed. âOkay, oh shit, once around⌠crap, missed it. Okay, once around⌠fuck!â His hands kept slipping because his palms were sweaty, which was weird. They were wet and cold in the locker room andââOnce arââ
Jaredâs hand closed over his, and for a second Dawson smiled up at him, sort of charmed. Wasnât that sweet? He was calming Dawson down.
âMove.â
Oh, yeah. He didnât even need to translate the subtext for that one. He stepped to the side and in short, quick moves, Jared opened the lock and pulled it off the locker, and Dawsonâs backpack and clothes did to him what they usually did to Dawson.
Attacked like hyenas high on the scent of a fresh corpse.
âAugh!â The backpack came first, and it was heavy, and the clothes came next, and Dawson grabbed those because his underwear were on top, and, well, dude, and Jared stepped sideways and let the collection of iPod, wallet, cell phone, and earbuds slither down on top of everything else as it hit the wet concrete ground.
Dawson could not pick his shit up fast enough.
âIâm sorry about that, okay? I, you know, if Iâd known you were going to get it open that quick, I would have warned you. Itâs just that I sort of have a system, right? I open the locker and shove my hand in and generally one or two things fall down.â Electronics and wallet shoved in the locker, dirty clothes tuckedunder the arm, and backpack with change of clothes bailed out of the water. Dawson held it up and smiled ingratiatingly, hoping for peace. âUhm, my clean clothes are in here, and I donât think the water got to them, but, well, if you could take that and settle it down on a bench, I can, you know, get organized.â
âI doubt it.â The words were flat, spoken dryly, with only a lift of an eyebrow as Jared set the backpack down. Of course his meaning ran rife with subtext, but behind the ironic eyes, Dawson could see the hint of a lip curl and even a few even white teeth. Oh holy Jebus blessed beâa smile.
Dawson relaxed fractionally, and he tucked his towel under his pits so he could straighten his clothes. âYeah, well, uhm, you know. Organized for me. Iâm sorry about all the trouble, you know? Iâm not normallyâwell, I am a spaz-puppy, but I donât usually spread the misery quite so effectively.â
Jaredâs mouth quirked up a little more and he inclined his head. âIf it wasnât forty degrees outside, I wouldnât mind being covered in⌠misery, okay? Letâs get changedâI havenât eaten yet, and it would be great if I could tell you what I need before I go.â
âOh, hey!â Dawson said, rifling through his bag. He pulled out a matched set of PowerBars. Like his asthma inhaler, he never left home without them. âWant one?â
âThank you, yeahâletâs get changed first, but yeah.â
Dawson handed Jared the roll of fresh jeans, underwear, long-sleeved T-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt, and turned his back so he could put on his old stuff.
âOh my God,â Dawson said quietly, eyeballing his underwear. He was relieved to find that in spite of the rather odd day, he had not once actually crapped his pants, and he shucked his Speedos quickly and tucked them in the little plastic bag so he could shove them in the front pocket of his backpack.
âYou have the whitest ass I have ever seen on a living human.â
Dawson flailed and pulled his towel up around his waist. âI was saying âOh my God, Iâm finally comfortable enough not to be a danger to the whole frickinâ worldâ and youâve got to say something like that?â
He risked a glare behind him only to find that Jared had changed at faster-than-human speed. He was currently belting Dawsonâs jeans around his waist, and his waist was narrow enough, but the jeans were tight against his thighs and groin because, well, Jared had serious muscles there like any self-respecting dancer.
âOkay. Those jeans are dangerous,â he conceded, and Jared glared at him. âIâm sorry! Seriously! I didnât mean for any of this to happen!â
âThatâs nice,â Jared said when he was done with the button. âAm I circumcised?â
Dawson widened his eyes and stared hard. âUhm, Iâm guessing no.â
âGood guess.â He gave Dawsonâs shirt a few stretches with his elbows and then pulled it over his wide chest, where it adhered like a Band-Aid.
âUhm, nice poky nipples also,â Dawson observed, apology dripping from his voice like water down his backside.
âAre you even dressed yet?â
âAre you going to make any more comments about my ass?â
Jared thought about it for a moment. âItâs nicely proportioned, almost hairless, and sort of sweetly round.Now can you get dressed?â
Dawson turned his back again and proceeded to move silently, mortification etched into every line of his body. âI, uhm, havenât had it described like that before,â he offered as he was pulling his stained baseball shirt on over his head.
âYeah?â Jared sat down creakily, given how tight his clothes were, and tried to lace up his sneakers. âHow is it usually described?â
Dawson propped one foot up on the locker room bench. âVirginal.â
Jared broke his shoelace. âGoddammit, Dawson!â
âYouâre going to blame that on me?â
Jared shook his head, staring at the offending lace. âYes. Yes, I actually am going to blame this onâolfâyou!â
Dawson finished tying his other shoe for him. âHere, donât stress. Iâll tie them. Iâm sure somewhere out there is a nice boy or girl or pansexual god who will miss that thing if you self-circumcise on my jeans.â
âCurrently itâs only me,â Jared said, and once again his temper evened out as Dawson sank to his haunches and knotted the ends of the lace together so he could tie Jaredâs tennis shoes. âAnd my ex-boyfriend didnât miss it so much because he spent his time with other âthingsâ besides mine.â
Dawson glanced at Jaredâs crotch and then grinned up into his amazing eyes. âWell, he was real fucking stupid, âcause Iâm telling you, that thing looks like itâs worth waiting for.â
Under all that stubble, Jaredâs mouth pursed, a definite smile in the corners. âWell, thank you. Youâre sweet. But then, thatâs sort of West Hollywood, you know?â
Dawson stood up and offered Jared a hand. He took it, leaning heavily as he tried to flex under the constraints of the damned pants. âNope,â Dawson said, taking a step back so they didnât crowd each other. âIâve got nothing. Iâm like, terminally small-town.â
Jaredâs gaze traveled a speaking circle, taking in the surrounding gym and probably the campus of the junior college and the environs of the bedroom suburb that was Rocklin. âDo you want to change that?â
Dawson shrugged. âYeah. Sometimes. Iâve been to LA. Sometimes I want to be lead tech at the New York Met or San Francisco ACT. But sometimes I want to be one of the people who changes shit in Sacramento and helps put it on the map. And sometimes I want to be like Professor Weber and just make the world better by teaching boneheaded kids this thing I really love. Iâm only twentyâdonât I get to decide?â
Jaredâs formidable eyebrows knit together. He crossed his arms in front of him and gnawed absently on his thumbnail, which was bare almost to the quick in both the cuticle and the nail. âTwenty. Huh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess you do.â He sounded like heâd really thought about it.
âYou seem surprised.â
Jared shook his head and shrugged, shaking his arms out and grabbing the zippered hoodie with resignation. âItâs not going to zip,â he muttered.
Dawson grunted, still guilty. âYeah, you have the pecs of a godârub it in some more. Why would that surprise you?â
âBecause,â Jared said, pulling the sweater over his arms and wincing when it tightened on his biceps. âBecause youâre twenty and youâve got all your choices ahead of you, and Iâm twenty-five and most people think Iâm counting the hours until injury ends my career. I just forget, thatâs all. That twenty is young.â
He rolled up his wet clothes into a little bundle and started out of the gym. Dawson followed slowly, making sure all his shit was tucked in his almost-empty backpack and that his Speedos werenât going to drip all over his iPod before he zipped it up.
He caught up when Jared was crossing the almost-deserted quad, and silently handed him the PowerBar.
âThanks.â
âNo worries. Iâd take you out for a late dinner, but, well, Iâm broke, and seriously, all weâve got thatâs open this late is Dennyâs.â
âI know. Itâs right by my hotel. Itâll do.â
âYou got Adalbertoâs down in LA?â
âNope.â
âWell, if you ever want to go off your ballerina diet, you need to try one of their carne asada burritos. Their drive-through is open all night.â
Jared turned in the foggy moonlight and flashed him a grateful smile. âNice recâweâll see how much I gain by the end of this trip, and I might just stop there.â
Dawson grinned, happy to help, and, quite frankly, happy to take some of that pensiveness out of their conversation. They got to the stage and Dawson pulled out his keys and turned on the house lights.
âDo you need the stage lights?â he asked, concerned. Theyâd been off for some time, and they always took about twenty minutes to warm up.
âNo, but I do need to see what your light board and sound board look like.â
âYeahâno problem.â Dawson opened the tech booth and showed him in. Standard stuffâof course Benji had set it up, so it was better than standard.
Jared nodded. âOkayâIâm going to need a couple of things. First, Iâve got a CDâthe tracks are in order and Iâll give you cues from the stage, okay? First, second, thirdâbut we may need to repeat. You canât just doze off, okay?â
âYeah, no problem. This is a guild gig. I like to be on my toes.â
âGood. And as for lights, the setup you have going for my performances should be good, but weâre going to need someone to man the spotlight. Can we do that?â
âYeah. Benjiâs got tomorrow off and his classes end at elevenâwill that be early enough?â
âYeah. The workshop starts at twelve, thatâs fine. He needs to pay attention, though.â Jared swallowed and looked at Dawson like he meant businessâbut he also seemed to be almost pleading. âThese kids have to think that theyâre the real thing. Like⌠Cinderella and Prince Charming and the whole fairy tale, you got it? That spotlight has to follow them, and their music has to be on cue, and all the little stuff that makes a pro performance professional? That has to happen for these kids. They canât ever think, âWell, it was just a workshop,â okay? Theyâve got to think theyâre superstars.â
Dawson nodded firmly. âI hear you. Weâll take it real serious. Benjiâs a good guyâhonest. Hasnât let me down since we were rug rats. IâmâŚ.â He looked out at the stage where heâd almost landed on this guyâs head only hours before. âI know you didnât see us at our best, but I swear, Jaredâthis place? This place is where I dance.â
Jared nodded, and there was a space there, like heâd really listened. âOkayâstandard light setup?â He sat down in front of the board.
âYup.â
âThen hereâs the cues.â He reached into the jeans rolled up in his lap and pulled out some sodden Post-it notes, thankfully written on in pencil. âOkayâyou got a pen?â
Dawson reached into the front pocket of his backpack and handed one to him, and they spent the next twenty minutes talking about cues and music while Jared wrote down which lights should come up with what number on new Post-its. Dawson watched him, taking notes with half his brain, because this stuff came second nature to him. The other half of his brain was trying to reconcile the slightly arrogant diva to this guy who was putting himself out for a free gig, and what he came up with was sort of heartening.
Jared Emory wasnât a bad guy, really. Now if only Dawsonâs galloping pulse could admit that he really wasa guy instead of a god, this whole gig would be cake!
âOh yeahâone more thing,â Jared murmured, looking at a sodden notebook that had apparently been in his hoodie pocket. âLookâI might not need this, but can you or someone else come up on the stage if I need you to?â
âWhile Iâm running light and sound?â
âYou could put that stuff on hold and have Benji spotlight you. I just need someone to model.â
âSo you donât want to ask, like, a dancer? Havenât you been practicing with them all day?â
For the first time since Dawson had fallen out of the sky onto his head, Jared looked uncomfortable.
âI need someone nice,â he said after a moment. âSomeone normal and not perfect. Itâll help if youâre⌠I donât know, you. Awkward. Iâm going to be correcting your feet and your posture, and they need to see that Iâm not just doing it to them. The other dancers can fake it, but trust meâitâs better when itâs you.â He paused. âOr, uhm, someone like you.â Another pause. âAnd I might not need that anyway. It depends on how high functioning the kids are. Sometimes itâs all they can do to move across the stage.â
âOkay, then.â That intensity was a little frightening. âWell, if you need me, give me a hollerâI swear I wonât be reading my English lit.â
âHerman Melville?â Jared asked out of the blue.
âNo, because Iâm not suicidal. Nathaniel Hawthorne.â
Those eyes lightened, and when Jaredâs just-right mouth relaxed into a smile that showed actual teeth, Dawsonâs entire groin/abdomen area constricted, waiting for the sucker punch of desire.
âGoodâthe romantics were hopeful,â Jared said, and Dawson couldnât breathe, couldnât move for a moment, because there was no guarding against that much raw want.
He nodded mutely, knowing his plain brown eyes were wide and probably limpid with oooolf, and that Jared couldnât help seeing it.
He didâhe must have. He smiled wearily and stretched and said, âOkay, I think thatâs all we need. Time for me to get some dinner and some yoga pants and crash.â
Dawson shook himself. âDo you need a ride?â
Shrug. âMy rental is at the hotel. I can walkâitâs not far.â
âYeah, but itâs, like, dark. And foggy. And people drive like assholes. My car is small, I meanââoh Godââyou may need to unzip my pants to get in, butââ
He stopped because Jared had crossed his arms and was now laughing into his hand.
âUhm. Yeah. Stupid idea.â
âNo, no.â Jared waved at him to lead the way from the tech booth. âAny activity that needs me to unzip your pants is a good one.â
âGuhâŚ.â Oh God.
Jared bumped him from behind as he stalled out at the doorway. âDawson, I havenât slept in twenty-four hours. Tell your hard-on to give it a rest and Iâll take that ride, okay?â
And just the mention of his hard-on was humiliating enough for Dawson to be able to walk again.
âTwenty-four hours?â he asked, moving like it was just a normal, everyday thing.
âYeah. Performance last night, pack, airport, plane, arriveâfind a shuttle. I mean, Iâm not sure if you know this, but your airport is out in Bumfuckââ
âAnd this campus is a little north of Yemen, and LAX is the armpit of Satanâyeah, Iâm aware.â Dawson led the way out of the theater and down the walkway to the crosswalk. It was about a quarter of a mile to his car, but that sort of beat a mile and a half to the Dennyâs.
âSatanâs armpit has more class than LAX,â Jared said dryly. âI take it youâve been there?â
âYeah, to visit my mom when I was little.â Dawsonâs pocket buzzed and he pulled out his phone. Bringing Darian to movie night. Donât hate. Sheâs bringing popcorn flavoring so youâll like her. He grunted and the crosswalk light turned green. He looked to his right anyway, because not everyone stopped in the fog, but Rocklin Road looked clear. âDad would send me out, her driver would pick me up, and Iâd spend the rest of the summer by the pool. Didnât see much of LA, but I knew that shitty airport.â
âTheyâve fixed it up in the last five years,â Jared told him.
Dawson shrugged. âYeah, I saw some of that. Four years ago I told Mom I was gay and she could just put money in my college fund. My little half brother was two by then, she had her hands full âcause she kept losing nannies, and she took me up on it.â Dawson sighed and led the way to his little Honda. âSheâs been a name on a check ever since.â
Jared grunted a little. âSo you stay with your dad?â
âHe set me and Benji up in our own apartment during our first year of school. I knowâweâre spoiled rotten. He only lives a few miles away in Lincoln, so we spend weekends there when we donât have a show. Momâs been the name on the guilt check, Dadâs been the actual âYeah, Dawson, youâre gay, Iâm not shocked, wear a condomâ parent.â
Jaredâs chuckle sort of hit him like hot chocolate in the pit of his stomach. âDid he really say that?â
Dawson smiled at the memory. âYup. I had Benji come with me to tell him, and we sat down in the kitchen, and Benji said, âGee, Mr. Barnes, would you like me to get you some cookies, some milk, a glass of wine, some beer?â and Dad said, âThanks, Benji, I can get my own snacks in my own house, but thatâs really sweet. Why arenât I watching The Colbert Report right now?â And I saidâwell, I said a whole bunch of stuff, and I went back into the history of homosexuality in civilization and the history of theater and the arts and how really, the whole gay thing complemented the career choice, and my dad interrupted me and saidââ
âLet me guess,â Jared said, unbuttoning his pants and bending down to open the door.
âYup. âDawson, youâre gay, Iâm not shocked. Wear a condom and let me get back to my show.ââ Dawson grinned at him in the darkness as he turned the ignition.
âSo whatâd you say?â Jared asked, still smiling gently.
âI was sort of like thisââ He unhinged his jaw and stared into space. ââbut Benji? He was like, âDoes that mean we can go to the movies, Mr. Barnes?â and my dad was like, âIf you stop for ice cream on the way home, Iâll pay for your tickets.â And that was it.â
Jared laughed that quiet, self-contained laugh again. âThatâs sweet. How long has Benji known?â
âSince second grade.â Dawson pulled slowly out of the parking lotâGod, he hated the fog. âHe wanted to kiss the little girl in front of us and I wanted to kiss him. He saidâand Iâll never forget this, because Benjiâs never been super smart, right, but this was really wise. He said, âIf I say no, will you still be my friend?â and I was really hurt, right? But I said, âYeah, Benji. I canât make you like me like that,â and then he looked really hurt. He said, âThen I canât make Becca like me like that either. But thatâs okay, âcause weâre still friends.ââ
âWonderful,â Jared said, and suddenly he was talking in subtexts again, but this time Dawson couldnât read between the lines.
âYeah,â he said distractedly, squinting to make sure no one was barreling off the freeway and ignoring the light. Cautiously he stepped on the gas to make the green light, and he let out a breath when they cleared the intersection. God, this little space by the overpass could be a nightmare. âWhatâs wonderful about it?â
âNothing. Unrequited crushes. Nothing important.â
âRight. Just the thing thatâs gonna squash you flat. Howâd you come out?â
âI didnât go home,â Jared said just as Dawson was creeping up to the turnoff to Dennyâs and the Holiday Inn.
âWhatâs that mean?â
âIt means that I told my parents I wanted to go to dance school. I was fourteen, and I couldnât think ofanything better than dancing six hours a day between studies. It⌠God, it was all I could ask of the world.â
âWhy for?â Dawson asked curiously. He was always curious about what drove the front of the house people to go out and figuratively bleed on the stage.
There was a sudden quiet. âItâs hard to explain,â he answered eventually. âLetâs just say⌠well, itâs all I am.â
Dawson swallowed. His blithe maybe-plan for the rest of his life seemed reckless all of a sudden, like he was squandering something. âWhat did your parents say about dance school?â he asked.
Jaredâs voice gained strength with this answer. âWell, my mom said theyâd pay, but if I turned out to be âone of those dance people,â I shouldnât bother to return home. So I graduated from the academy and into the theater and rented a flat with five other theater people who are also never home, and I havenât seen my parents since then.â
âNames on a check?â
âYup.â
âThat sorta sucks. At least my mom tries once a year.â
âIt just is,â Jared said on a yawn. âHere. Drop me off at DennyâsâI can walk from here.â
Dawson felt sort of bad, but his pocket buzzed again. He pulled to a stop right in front of the Dennyâs and checked his phone.
Please donât ditch outâI told her if you donât get along this will be the shortest relationship in history.
Dawson sighed and punched in OMW and then looked up at Jared. âYou know, you could come over to my place. Itâs movie night, since weâre both working the show and the weekendâs toast.â
Jared rolled his eyes, and suddenly the dick was back. âYeah. I could be your beard so you could pretend you got over your crush in the second grade. Night, Dawson. Thanks for the help.â And with that, he was up and out of the car, closing the door solidly behind him.
âWhat. An. Asshole.â Dawson watched as he walked up to the Dennyâsâprobably to have the worldâs sorriest salad, no dressing, for dinnerâand waited until he got inside. Then he pulled out carefully and made his way down Rocklin Road toward his apartment building on Taylor. He had a death grip on the steering wheel, but at every stop, he rubbed his chest, angry at himself. It wouldnât hurt so much right there if he hadnât started to like the guy to begin with.
Loved the book, truly loved it.
So, wait. You MADE the hat for her. You're a better woman than I Gunga Din.
I was just thinking today that I really don't have a winter hat (and it's below freezing today) and wondering if 3 months of winter was worth the effort of making myself a hat let alone for someone who is that picky!
Excellent post as usual ;D <3 you too!! Glad you got the card đ đ huge hugs Happy Release Day!!
I have a comment, but it is for the lovely Squish who is wearing the best t-shirt EVER!
We're Animaniacs!
We have pay-or-play contracts! We're zany to the max!
There's baloney in our slacks! We're Animani-
Totally insane-y!
Chicken chow-meiny…
An-I-Man-I-Acs!!!!
Those are the facts!
I have a comment but it's for the lovely Squish who is wearing the best t-shirt EVER!
We're Animaniacs,
We have pay or play contracts
We're zany to the max
There's baloney in our slacks
We're animany…
Totally insaney…
Chicken chow-meiny!!
Animaniacssss!
Amy,
Thank you. You did it again. Sucked hours of my life & left me awestruck at the angst and the sweet.
Amy,
Just wanted to say thank you for this wonderful book. I really enjoy all of your books.