Not So Musically Inclined
Confession time: I love to sing… I just can’t do it well. If you’ve ever watched American Idol and all the cringe inducing auditions (and let’s face it, we all watch for the cringe) you can pretty much sum up what I sound like. Not quite as bad as the caterwauling of an undomesticated animal, but pretty close.
I am quite the dramatic performer while I’m driving. I promise I perform my theatrics safely. Mostly because I want to be safe and not injure myself or anyone else, but also because I feel like explaining to a police officer or insurance agent or anyone else that I ended up in a ditch because I was belting out a particularly soulful portion of a song while clutching my chest and closing my eyes.
Getting back on track…
The reason I love singing even though I suck at it is because I love music and all the emotions it inspires. I have a wide and eclectic taste in music which has served me well while writing because every story has very different playlists that keep me inspired to write.
Here are a few choice songs that are included in my playlist for this series. As always, I’d love to hear from you! Find me on social media or shoot me an email anytime.
For Unlikely Reunion:
Whataya Want From Me ~ Adam Lambert https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1Fqn9du7xo
If I Had You ~ Adam Lambert https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmXQFwlD7vk&list=PLBrAVLXj_mBd0IGBsyA9jOmiNQ_YAlLJa
(Random fun fact: Adam Lambert is my character inspiration for Erik in Unlikely Reunion)
For Unlikely Match:
I Think I’m OKAY ~ Machine Gun Kelly, YUNGBLUD, Travis Barker
Stronger ~ Kelly Clarkson
Excerpt from Unlikely Reunion:
My expectations for a tacky ambiance at my tenth class reunion did not disappoint, and every ounce of my bitchy soul loved it. Sneaking into the back to avoid being spotted too soon served a double purpose. I could make snide mental comments about the décor, have a few extra moments of anonymity and scope out exactly where the assholes were gathered—the ones who’d made four years of high school in a small town as a skinny, gay loser that much more miserable.
Yeah, that was a group I was hoping to avoid, even though I was far from the same person I’d been then. Even if I had success after success linked to my name, I couldn’t shake the memories of being shoved against the wall, of being called every normal derogatory name and a few new ones they had so cleverly come up with.
I purposely walked slow around the periphery of the room, not wanting to miss a single detail. My interior designer would demand an in-depth description, after which she would require oxygen at the very least, perhaps full resuscitation.
The round tables covered with red cloths and accented with silverware wrapped in black napkins weren’t bad. Rather stylish, really. The red and black balloon arch? Certainly not something I’d see in LA, but reasonable. Fun, even.
But the cards? Holy fuck, the cards. Oversized playing cards arranged awkwardly were meant to be centerpieces…the Queen of Hearts, the King of Diamonds, the Jack of Spades. But they had nothing on the posterboard- sized card replicas stuck to the wall. Each one had the face of royalty replaced with one of my classmates.
The images were from their senior portraits, which were already a decade old and, in many cases, a far cry from their current reality, myself included. The pulse of the music from my adolescence reverberated in my skull when my gaze landed on my card in all of its acne-riddled, mousy, unstyled hair, Coke-bottle-glasses glory. I slid my hands into the pockets of my rose-colored tux as I stared at the former me, the me I’d been before I’d landed a small part on a soap opera —the me before my co-star Katrina had taken me under her wing and helped me morph into the golden boy she’d somehow known was lurking beneath, the me before a starring television role, three subsequent blockbuster movies, an Oscar win and an Emmy nom. That bitch would be mine next year.
I crossed my legs in front of me and leaned against the wall, the coolness of the stone seeping through my jacket and shirt, kissing my skin. The Erik that I once had been had so consumed my concentration that a tap on my shoulder made me jump then slowly blink when I realized who it was. What are the fucking chances? “Hey, man, I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you. And you don’t have a tag on…” The full lips I’d spent far too long dreaming about a decade before quirked into a half-smile and he stuck his hand out. “Kyle Lincke…with a beard now and a construction business to match the stereotype.”
As if I don’t know who he is. As if I hadn’t had many a shower turn ice cold as I stroked my cock, dreaming of his lips wrapped around it… As if I hadn’t spent the whole of my high school years both hoping he would pay some attention to me and skillfully avoiding his sphere, thanks to sheer intimidation… And as if I could ever forget the single fateful day our paths had crossed and he’d spared me a vicious encounter at the hands of almost half the football team…
“Erik Stevens, former loser, current actor.” My fame and still relatively newfound good looks had made me a little cocky—or a lot cocky. Even before the multiple laps I’d forced my driver to make around the building, I had intentionally been late and had snuck in. The notion of humming whispers when I’d eventually be noticed, followed by an eruption of applause, cheers and back claps from the assholes who used to torture me had lulled me to sleep every night this week.
The tightening of his fingers around mine and the realization dawning on his face were fucking priceless. It looked like my high school crush was going to be the first worshiper at the altar of Erik tonight. Reality was turning out better than my dreams.
His Adam’s apple bobbed several times, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I was hoping…” He shook his head and licked his lips. Even in the dim light, his dark eyes were sparkling. “I never dreamed you’d actually come. I thought that ‘yes’ was a joke.” A quip about ‘coming’ was on the tip of my tongue, but it and every other conscious thought were stolen as he dropped his mouth onto mine.
He released my hand and quickly lowered his to my waist, gripping it tightly. He pressed me deeper into the wall and I was helpless to do anything to stop him. As if I fucking would. Four years of pornographic fantasies were finally being fulfilled, even if it was a decade late. I trailed my fingers up his arms and across his shoulders, stopping only when they met and clung to the nape of his neck.
He groaned against my lips, rocking his hips against mine. I gasped at the first contact with his already-hard cock and dug my nails into his skin. His thick but well-groomed facial hair created a delicious burn as he deepened the kiss. He moved his hands around behind me, cupping my ass and pulling me tighter against him. My dick screamed for release and my trendy, tapered slacks were now the most uncomfortable creation in the world.
If it had been anyone else, it would have been sexy. It would have been hot. It would have been sensual. But this was Kyle Lincke. And he was damn near dry humping me in a dark corner of the gym at our ten-year high school reunion. This was the source of my dirtiest desires being played out in real life. It was a fucking miracle that I didn’t come in my pants right then. Finally, and yet all too soon, he pulled away, panting heavily. His gaze searched mine before he closed his eyes. He dropped his head and a million thoughts assaulted me. Kyle Lincke, popular class president, everyone’s BFF and my one-time champion was now a mountain man who happened to like pretty boys from LA? My reality was rapidly becoming stranger than the fictional storylines I portrayed on the big and small screens.
A hollow chuckle escaped his swollen lips and he caressed my face with his hot, cinnamon-scented breath. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve waited twelve years to be able to do that and I fucked it up in under five seconds.”
My brain was muddled, lost in the misty haze of lusty desire and the desperate need that Kyle had created in me. I shook my head, trying to find the words to argue. That was not just the kiss of my fantasies, that was the best damn one of my life.
He released me and stepped back. Every inch of my heated flesh cried out at the loss. I wanted the man naked and bent over the sink in the bathroom, not walking away. He ran his hands over his ruddy face. “It, um… It was good of you to come back to visit, Erik. Don’t forget to pick up your name tag. They’ve been dying for the big star to stop by the welcome desk.”
With that, he turned and retreated through the heavy metal doors and I was left staring after him, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Excerpt from Unlikely Match:
Stupid hair.
A stray dark lock of Tyler’s just slightly too long hair kept falling onto his forehead and distracting the fuck out of me to a ridiculous level. Who the hell paid this much attention to hair? “I’ve been in ‘training’ for three days now. Shouldn’t I be learning how to punch and jab or whatever bullshit it is you guys do?” He brushed the offensive strands from his face as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
I ran my tongue along my lower lip. Big personalities in small packages had always been my particular brand of catnip, especially when that came attached to a firm and decisive hand. On reflex, my ass cheeks clenched and my loose gym shorts turned uncomfortable. How long had it been anyway? “Listen, kid. Just like Joey and I told you the other day, this isn’t about kicking someone’s ass. You want to learn self-defense and I get that, but first things first. You need to build up some endurance.”
The guy jumped off the bench he’d fallen onto after I’d made him do thirty seconds worth of lunge jumps alternating with fifteen seconds of rest for a total of five rounds. “My name is Tyler fucking Kirk.” He stood directly in front of me, poking a long, nimble finger into my chest. I grabbed his hand before he could collide with my breastbone again. A frisson of electricity shot up my arm from where we were joined. His heavy breathing put very different thoughts in my head than training.
Tyler’s hot breath skating along my spine, my neck—laboring to pull oxygen into his lungs as he filled me from behind. Too long. It has been too fucking long. I released my grip on him, pushing him away from me slightly. “Fine, Tyler fucking Kirk… Here’s the deal. You’re either gonna stop bitching and moaning about the way I coordinate your training and trust me to do what I know is best, or you’re gonna haul your ass to a different gym.”
A moment’s worth of concern raced across his face before he narrowed his gaze and folded his arms. “It doesn’t really look like you can afford to lose the clientele there, big boy.” It was an insult, and there was exactly zero reason for it to send fire directly to my crotch, but the twitching member barely concealed beneath the thin polyester shorts seemed to contradict my brain. What I needed was a trip to the club that was oh-so-conveniently located just a few miles from the gym—the one my ex had introduced me to, the one that was the only place outside of the ring where I could feel the most like myself and the one where I could find a trusted friend, drop to my knees and do exactly what he told me.
In that moment, however, the only thing I found enticing was kneeling for the glowering creature standing before me—a practical stranger to whom I had an unusual and irrational attraction, one that was off limits not only because he was my client, but also because I was certain he’d never understand my personal preferences. Desires. Needs.
He snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Did you hear what I said?” No. The answer was definitely no. I debated trying to bluff my way through an answer for a moment, but decided that giving up and calling ‘uncle’ was a much safer plan. “No, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Tyler pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes. “I said that you’re right, okay?” He sighed and held his hands out to his sides for a moment before letting them fall against his lean hips. “You’re the expert and I came here for your help. It’s stupid to be giving you a hard time.”
I was certain my jaw would connect with the thick padding covering the concrete floor. “Come again?” He shrugged and a light dusting of rose coated his cheekbones. “Listen… I know I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes. It’s basically the only self-defense mechanism I have.” He lifted both eyebrows meaningfully. “I don’t run away.”
Dammit all to hell, why does he have to do this to me? I shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about a kid more than a decade younger than me to begin with. Adding in the fact that he was my client made him a definite no-go. But with four simple words, my respect for him grew and with it, my desire. The two were forever intermingled in my world. Done. We were done for the day. We had to be. I needed to drop by the club for a long-overdue visit and exorcise some of the demons that had clearly taken control of my libido. “Hey, why don’t you go hit the showers? You put in some good work.”
I did not track the sweat-soaked white shirt clinging to the lean muscles of his back as he walked away from me. But I definitely did take my time putting away all the equipment we’d been using, wiping down the bench and tossing errant water bottles into the recycling bin. By the time I’d dragged out each menial chore, more than fifteen minutes had passed and
Joey was leaving. “I’m heading out, chief.” He scratched the mass of short, wiry curls on top of his head. “It’s just you and the kid here. If you want to let him out the back, I’ll lock up the front.”
“Tyler.” His name came out of my mouth before I had a chance to think. “His name is Tyler, not ‘kid’.” Confusion shrouded Joey’s face for a moment before he grinned. “Right… Well, uh, you just let Tyler out and I’ll take care of the front.” He winked and lifted a hand. Shit. Clearly that had been a little too obvious.
“He’s a client,” I lectured myself as I walked into the locker room, intent on washing away the day and thoughts of Tyler, “and a fucking kid.” Steam from Tyler’s shower still blanketed the room in a dense fog, but the absence of running water made me confident that he’d finished and moved to the changing area to dry off and get dressed. I stripped down, leaving a trail of clothes behind me as I walked into the communal shower with purpose.
Until I found myself standing in a pocket of clarity, my gaze held captive by startled emerald orbs. My mouth turned into the Sahara and my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth. He was a kid. His paperwork confirmed that he was only twenty-five, a decade younger than me, but the body standing before me with rivulets of water running down it belied the scrawny boy who was always swallowed up by his clothes. Tyler sported lean muscles on his arms and a hint of baby abs forming on his midsection that had been concealed from view until he was nude.
The first day, when he’d taken his shirt off to prove his assertion that he wasn’t a total shrimp, I had been speechless. But I was not prepared to experience a fully naked Tyler. My breath stuttered on an exhale and my heart stopped. His abdomen was marred by bruises fading from the purple they had been the day after the attack into the yellow and green that signaled the healing of his otherwise-perfect flesh. Without thinking of the consequences, I reached my hand out, traced along an ugly imprint and winced. I’d had far worse myself after going rounds with various opponents—hell, I’d had worse after sparring with Joey—but seeing the marks on Tyler’s creamy skin did something to me, something I wasn’t prepared to think about.
“It’s okay.” His whispered reassurance cut through the thick air and I brought my gaze back up to meet his. He was battered and bruised and trying to comfort me? Someone who barely knew him? I shook my head, my hand not leaving his side, and I took one step closer. “No. It really isn’t.”
Tyler smirked and arched a single brow. I barely bit back the groan that the innocuous action induced. “You wanna kiss it and make it better?” He wasn’t serious. Couldn’t be. “Yes.” I was as shocked by the hoarseness of my voice as I was by the answer itself. There were about fifty reasons why I shouldn’t do that, but as I dropped to my knees and pressed my lips against his heated flesh, I couldn’t seem to remember a damn one of them.
Great covers and the stories sound great.
Looks like an interesting story. Thank you for the post!
This sounds quite interesting. Much success to the author and thanks for sharing with us.