When I heard about the new Dreamspun lines from Dreamspinner Press, I knew immediately I wanted to be involved. Not only because I idea sounded darn cool, but because I knew it would be fun. See, a lot of my books have quite a bit of angst in them. They’re not dark, it is just at least one of the guys has something big he has to get over before he can truly find love. Abuse, emotional scaring, body dysmorphia, being single because their ex cheated on them…. I think you get the picture.
But the Dreamspun books were, contemporary category romance novels, complete with your favorite heartwarming heroes, crazy cliche’s, and terrific tropes. It’s all about the feel-good loving that will leave you grinning. That sounded wonderful. Fun!
And writing Getting His Man was a lot of fun. It was my husband who gave me the initial idea as well. Why not write a novel about a bounty hunter going after his man?
(which he unknowingly gave me the name of the book as well)
R so rarely offers story ideas because like a lot of author’s husbands, he isn’t into what I write. It meant a lot to me that he tried. And this was a good try! It made for a really good book as well.
What’s more, I had a big hand in the creation of the cover. I got to pick the cover model, before setting one single word to paper, which helped me write the book because I knew him visually, and that helps me bunches when I am writing.
But more, I designed the cover badge the little symbol that lets you know this is a part of a series. And yes, I’ve got two more planed. One about August’s business partner, also a bondsman/bounty hunter. And the other about…. Oh! But that would be telling!
HERE WE GO!
COVER ARTIST:Bree Archer
A love story worthy of an old movie… with a new twist.
Artie needs a hero, a man like those he’s always revered in Golden Age films. His drug-dealing jerk of a roommate got him arrested, and since his savior isn’t likely to sweep in and save the day, Artie calls a bail bondsman.
August has always imagined himself a hero from a black-and-white movie, but he’s never found a man willing to let him play that roleâ€”at least not until he gets the call from Artie.
Both of their dreams might come true, but not before August must use his skills as a bounty hunter as well as a bondsman. Artie is on the run for his life, and August must protect him and help him clear his name. Only then can they both finally get their man.
Arthur Bailey, aka Artie, could smell pot halfway up the stairs.
He stopped and considered turning around and heading to his favorite bar, The Corner Bistro, by himself. He could literally hear the echo of his best friend Ross’s words in his head: You know, sometime the cops are going to show up because of his frigging music and they’e going to smell that weed a block away and bust you all, even though you don’t smoke. But Artie was tired. It had been a long evening, even though he’d had a lot of fun.
With a sigh, he went up the stairs, the skunk-like marijuana smell getting stronger the closer he got to the door. Crap! And with the music playing that loud, one of these days the police really could show up. Then what would he do? There’s no way the cops would believe he wasn’t a part of it. Except maybe after a piss test which would of course be clean but it would still be an awful mess to go through.
He slipped his key in the lock and opened his mouth to say, Can you please turn it down? But when he stepped through the door, the words froze in his mouth. Not only was he almost knocked over by the smell and the volume, but he beheld something that at first his mind couldn’t even absorb. Sitting in the purple glow of a couple of black-light bulbs were his roommate Willie, Willie’s chubby pot-buddy, Jorge, and two girls Artie didn’t know. They were all passing a bong. But the thing that shocked Artie speechless was what was piled up on the coffee table. Pot. A whole lot of it!
He quickly closed the door, locked, and dead-bolted it before walking zombie-like to the center of the room.
Hey, dude, Willie all but shouted to be heard over the blasting music.
Artie looked down, and whoa, yes, there looked to be a small mountain of sandwich-bag-sized packages of marijuana on the coffee table. That or oregano, and somehow Artie didn’t think it was the latter.
Shut the front door, he said, although he doubted anyone heard him over the blasting lyrics that seemed to be composed almost entirely of the word fuck and a repeated phrase imploring someone to burn it down. Artie wasn’t sure. It was hard to understand.
He looked at his roommate, who was taking an insanely protracted hit on the foot-long bong, and wondered, What are they thinking? If the police came now, they’d all be in for it.
Willie, he cried. What the heck? He pointed at the not-oregano.
Willie waved away Artie’s comment as if it were nothing and passed the bong to the girl next to him. Relax, dude.
Relax? Artie almost shouted, then got ahold of himself. Relax? Willie! Look how much you’ve got here. If the cops come….
elax. Ain’t no cops showin up tonight.
No, dude, take it easy.Willie stood up, walked around the coffee table, and put a hand on Arties shoulder. Come here, he said and guided Artie to their little kitchen. Have a beer, man. And a brownie.
Brownie? Artie lit up. He loved brownies more than anything on earth, and these even had icing. Imagine. Willie taking time to put icing on anything instead of just suggesting people use it like dip.
I put the icing on came a slurred voice.
Artie glanced up to see one of the girls standing behind Willie, head on his shoulder. She was so stoned she looked like she might melt, but shed solved the icing mystery.
Thanks,he said and took one of the bigger brownies and gobbled it down so fast it took him a moment to realize they tasted like… This tastes like alfalfa.
No,Willie replied. Like weed.
Weed?The shock sent his eyelids up. Pot?
Sure, dude, what’d you think?
I didn’t think marijuana!
How much did you put in these? he exclaimed.
Willie shrugged and gave him a grin. I threw in most of a bag.
I told him he didn’t need near that much, said the girl with her head on Willie’s shoulder.
Gosh gosh gosh! He hadn’t smoked pot but once in his entire life, when he was eighteen and at a graduation party he’d been astonished he’d been invited to. He wasn’t one of the more popular kids, outside of drama club. He hadn’t liked getting high. Didn’t like the cotton-headed floatiness, the feeling of not being in control. It had been five or six years, and now it was going to happen again.
The only reason he didn’t panic was that at least he was at home. None of the confusion of being at a stranger’s packed-to-the-rafters house. No worries about driving. If only I had gone to The Corner Bistro, maybe I could have avoided this. He looked at Willie and shook his head.
What, dude? Willie asked.
Dude. Geez, he hated that word.
I’m going to bed, Willie….
And waste your high? Eyes wide and unbelieving.
Yes. And can you do me an effin favor? It was all he could do not to scream.
The girl turned around and swayed back into the purple haze of the living room.
What? Willie asked.
Can you turn the music down some? Please. And for Pete’s sake, put a rolled-up towel against the bottom of the door. You can smell the pot halfway downstairs.
Okay!Willie raised his hands. No problema! Geez.
It was then that Artie felt his head detach and try to float away.
Whoa. Oh, wow. He was feeling it already?
Somehow, he got to his room and closed the door. He half undressed, turned off the light, and climbed into bed. Thankfully, he fell almost instantly asleep.
Which made it all the more shocking and wonky unsettling when some unknown time later, his bedroom lights blazed on, and he looked up through shielded hands at a female police officer.
Excuse me, sir. I need you to get up and get dressed. You’e under arrest.
B.G. Thomas lives in Kansas City with his husband of more than a decade and their fabulous dogs Sarah Jane and Oliver. He is blessed to have a lovely daughter as well as many extraordinary friends. He has a great passion for life.
B.G. loves romance, comedies, fantasy, science fiction, and even horror as far as he is concerned, as long as the stories are character driven and entertaining, it doesn’t matter the genre. He has gone to literature conventions his entire adult life where heâ’s been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers. He has made up stories since he was a child; it is where he finds his joy.
In the nineties, he wrote for gay adult magazines but stopped because the editors wanted all sex without plot. The sex is never as important as the characters, he says. Who cares what they are doing if we don’t care about them? Excited about the growing male/male romance market, he began writing again. He submitted a novella and was thrilled when it was accepted in four days. Since then the romantic tales have poured out of him. is like I’m somehow making up for a lifetime’s worth of story-telling!
In 2015 he made and entry every day in his blog 365 Days of Silver, where he found something every day to be grateful for. You can find it right here: https://365daysofsilver.wordpress.com/
Leap, and the net will appear is his personal philosophy and his message. It is never too late, he testifies. Pursue your dreams. They will come true!
B.G is offering a ecopy of his backlist to one Lucky winner!