Title: ALL NOTE LONG
Author: Annabeth Albert
Series Title and Number: Perfect Harmony, Book 3, but stands alone well too
Cover Artist: Cora Graphics/Kensington
Release Date: August 2, 2016
Length: 232 pages
Giving true love a spin . . .
Michelin Moses is a country music star on the rise. With a hit single under his Texas-sized belt buckle and a sold-out concert tour underway, his childhood dreams of making it big are finally coming true. But there’s one thing missing—a promise to his dying mother that he’d find it—him—when the time was right. With a little luck, he won’t have to wait too long . . .
Lucky Ramirez is a hunky boy toy who dances at The Broom Closet, one of West Hollywood’s hottest gay bars. He loves what he does, and he’s good at it—almost as good as he is at playing dumb when he spots Michelin Moses at the bar. What happens next is off the charts—and keeps Michelin coming back for more. He’s just not sure it’s the right move for his career. But if Lucky gets his way, Michelin will get Lucky—and no matter how the media spins it, neither of them will be faking it . . .
Thanks for having me! In this exclusive excerpt my country music superstar hero, Michelin Moses is about to get into hot water with an attractive gogo dancer (who just happens to be my other hero, Lucky). He’s secretly closeted, secretly sober, and secretly in a whole lot of trouble…
Michelin hated dares. When he was growing up, Michelin’s cousins had figured out that he couldn’t back down from a dare, and thus he’d end up flinging himself out of haylofts, off bluffs over the river, and one particularly harsh winter, off the back shed into a snowdrift, all despite his intractable fear of heights. The go-go dancer was every bit as intimidating as a sheer cliff face and potentially just as deadly, but the guys had figured out the magic words to make Michelin do their bidding.
“I dare you.”
“Come on, just do a shot.”
“Shot or tip.”
Three of them held out money this time. No way was Michelin doing a shot. Wasn’t even remotely tempted. But then again, bar drinking had never been Michelin’s thing. Give him a long, empty night, though… He shook his head slightly, clearing out that thought. He had three years of sobriety saying that even that temptation was surmountable.
But fuck, three more trips over to the dancer? He’d already done four. Other than Lucas, who didn’t really drink, and Trevor, who had health reasons not to get smashed, the guys were well past toasted. Part of why Michelin hadn’t left was he wanted to make sure everyone got home safe. Or so he told himself. He should have left a long time ago. Made the rounds and got the hell out of there.
But fucking dares.
He collected all three bills, folded them carefully. The dancer was pretty incredible—he was doing the upside-down twerking thing again, each ass cheek moving independently in a way that didn’t seem anatomically possible. He caught Michelin watching, gave him a wink that went straight to Michelin’s groin, and flipped with effortless grace, using the railing to go low.
Hell. Michelin needed to bend to reach his underwear. And yes, that’s what the guy’s current costume was. The most obscene pair of underwear Michelin had ever seen, with a tube-like part to display the guy’s junk. And to top it off, the fabric was covered with a celestial pattern that was hypnotizing.
“What?” the guy asked as Michelin tucked the first of the bills in.
“Nothing. Just trying to figure out if that’s Leonid’s belt on your ass.”
“Trying to label my constellations. Man, you are too cute.” It was hard to hear with the music, but Michelin had decades of experience talking around concert music.
Michelin had figured out that the guy’s sides were the safest area to tuck money into, but the smooth planes of his back called to his fingers and he reached around to tuck the second bill in.
The guy motioned him closer, and to his complete chagrin, Michelin went without protest.
“I’m almost done torturing you.” The dancer laughed.
“Oh?” Michelin knew his relief was probably evident on his face. He shoved the third bill in, right over the guy’s defined hip bone.
“Yeah. My break’s coming up. If you need to escape your posse for a bit, come find me. I’ll hook you up with a water or a soda.” His smile was warm as butter on toast, and it melted some vital logic circuit in Michelin’s brain.
Before Michelin could answer, a skinny dude in a jockstrap and flip-flops hopped up behind the dancer. The dancer rose back to his full height and the two guys danced together for a minute in an obviously carefully choreographed move before the skinny guy slapped the other on the ass and shoved him off the stage.
He patted Michelin’s shoulder on his way down. Fuck. Michelin had seriously been standing there gaping the whole time they did their changeover. The guy leaned in, saying, “Find me?”
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Represented by Saritza Hernandez of the Corvisiero Literary Agency
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