Marc Jillson & The Gazebo by Anyta Sunday
Series: Love Inscribed #2
Book 1: Liam Davis & The Raven
Publisher: Anyta Sunday (self-published)
Release Date (Print & Ebook): May 14th, 2020
Length (Print & Ebook): ca. 50,000 words / 200 pages
Subgenre: Marc Jillson & The Gazebo is a sweet, sexy M/M romance with humor and a definite HEA. This New Adult, college, redemption story can be read as a standalone
Warnings: mentions of past violence against one of the MCs (not on page)
Order now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087WP31LG
Book synopsis:
Want true, heart-throbbing romance? Put down the Cheetos, and stop being a jackass.
The question is, can I do it?
I’ve been an epic dick to my friends, my uncle. Him.
Travis Hunter. Photographer, econ-student, paraplegic. Can I redeem myself? Apologize? Make a fresh start?
Hunter seems to think so. Even roped me into saving his favorite gazebo from the bulldozers.
The confidence of this man amazes me. He’s no bullshit where I’m all bullshit. I throw up walls where he knocks them down.
He’s beautiful, too. Strong arms inked with hummingbirds, a wide teasing mouth, and blue eyes that read me like an open book.
He looks at me, and I look away.
These shivery feelings I have for Hunter? They can’t happen. I don’t deserve him.
Where did I put those Cheetos?
~ ~ ~
Marc Jillson & The Gazebo is a sweet, sexy M/M romance with humor and a definite HEA. This New Adult, college, redemption story is book two in the “Love Inscribed” series.
The books in the Love Inscribed series are standalone romances, and can be read in any order.
LIAM DAVIS & THE RAVEN: Liam & Quinn’s story
MARC JILLSON & THE GAZEBO: Marc & Hunter’s story
Black suit. Teeth brushed. Phone in pocket.
I straightened the collar and slipped into dress shoes.
Pretty decent. My sandy bangs were behaving for once. Pity nothing could be done for the arrogant tilt of my nose.
I jogged upstairs for my uncle’s good opinion. His jaw unlocking and hanging open was judgment enough. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re ready to move out.”
“You clearly haven’t seen the state of my bank account.”
I told him not to wait up—like he would—and enjoy Downton Abbey for the fifth time, earning me a sofa cushion to the head.
Still chuckling, I answered the knock at my basement door.
Hunter.
My gaze ping-ponged as I took all of him in. His hair was neatly coiffured, his dress shoes gleamed, the gray suit fit perfectly, and the white shirt under his jacket shone like it was newly bought. Maybe it was. Or maybe Hunter took better care of his shit. His wheelchair was different too, fancier—he’d used sleek spoke guards to accessorize.
Hunter rolled back and scrolled a slow gaze from my head to my toe, lips curling.
“Did you just check me out?”
“Yes.” He curled a finger for me to come closer, and I did, as if pulled by an invisible cord. An invisible cord shooting electricity from my hands to my feet to the base of my balls. He snagged my tie and used it to pull me down. “Not for the first time, either.”
Our faces were an inch apart and I braced my damp palms on his chair.
His fingers picked up an object from inside the chair and tugged my left breast pocket.
“What do you think?” Hunter said.
“About your eyes lingering on my crotch?”
“About the boutonniere.” He winked, dropping his fingers from me. “I already know what you think about my eyes lingering on your crotch.”
I flustered and stood upright. A light red carnation. I hadn’t been serious about Hunter bringing me a corsage. Or a boutonniere.
My cheeks burned holding the freaking smile on my face. “I wasn’t serious about bringing one of these.”
“You weren’t, maybe. I am.”
From above, a third voice cut in. Uncle Ben called from the window. “I’m not assuming anything.”
“Good,” I called up to him.
“Now I’m deducing.”
I gestured to Hunter we leave. “How was basketball?”
“It was a good week. Made semis. What was happening with the Chief?” Hunter deftly shifted into the driver’s seat and swung his wheelchair into the back via the sliding door.
“Uncle Ben?” I nervously clipped in my belt. “Oh, he’s old.”
“Old? Looks fit to me. Not far past forty.”
“Forty-three. But he doesn’t understand that guys can flirt without it meaning anything.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
It was a stupid thing to say.
Silence descended between us as we drove.
“Uncle Ben is rooting for us to save the gazebo too,” I tossed out, hoping for a reaction, almost sighing when Hunter raised a quizzical brow.
“Yep,” I said. “His initials are carved into it.”
A bit about me: I’m a big, BIG fan of slow-burn romances. I love to read and write stories with characters who slowly fall in love. Some of my favorite tropes to read and write are: Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Clueless Guys, Bisexual, Pansexual, Demisexual, Oblivious MCs, Everyone (Else) Can See It, Slow Burn, Love Has No Boundaries. I write a variety of stories, Contemporary MM Romances with a good dollop of angst, Contemporary lighthearted MM Romances, and even a splash of fantasy. My books have been translated into German, Italian, French, and Thai.
Contact: http://www.anytasunday.com/about-anyta/
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To celebrate the release of Marc Jillson and the Gazebo, Anyta Sunday will be giving away 3 e-bundles of “Liam Davis” & “Marc Jillson”! Must be 18 to enter and win; open internationally.