When returning to Licking Thicket, TN, for the first time in ten years to reunite with your nosy neighbors, heart-broken ex-girlfriend, and matchmaking mama who never quite believed you were gay, it’s best to bring a fake boyfriend as backup… Just don’t be surprised when your ex-girlfriend does the same. And when her incredibly hot fake boyfriend becomes the one island of calm in a sea of bovine-based insanity, it’s best to exercise caution… especially when he pushes you up against the rough barn wall to check you very thoroughly for splinters… Just don’t be surprised if you fall head-over-hooves in love with him.
She popped a piece into her mouth and shoved the crumpled-up foil in my pocket. “He didn’t look very good, did he?” If we hadn’t been such close friends, I might not have known who she was talking about. But I’d spent years hearing about Brooks Johnson in excruciating detail. “Uh… I feel like there’s no good way to answer that.” He’d looked damned good to me. Until I’d realized who he was, of course. Then he’d looked like the wretched warted monster that he so obviously was. I just hadn’t realized wretched warted monsters could be so damned sexy. My bad. “His hair was all…” “Golden?” I suggested without thinking. Since I was busy putting my clothes away amongst the binoculars and other secret agent gadgets in the little wooden chest opposite the futon, I wasn’t paying much attention to her babbling. “Dull and lifeless. He needs a conditioning treatment, honestly. And I don’t say that easily. Also… his body was like…” “Cut? Ripped? Chiseled?” I tried not to drool since there wasn’t a bathroom in the “guest suite” for me to use to wash my face. “Kind of pudgy.” She said the last word in a whisper as if she’d been talking about a neighbor’s chlamydia. I snapped my head up to glare at her. “Listen, babe. I love you. You know that. But I will not condone lying in this…” I looked around at the cobwebby space. “House.” She rolled her eyes and lay back on the cushion with a huff. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that a big cloud of dust didn’t come out with the impact. Lord only knew how long that futon had been out here. I’d convinced Ava to steal three sets of sheets for it to create a thick barrier between me and whatever mites had made a sweet home in the thing over the years, but it still gave me the heebie-jeebies. I glanced at her. “Why do you even care? I thought we were over him.” “We were. We are.” She didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just…” I lifted a brow at her, and she threw up her hands. “It’s just… being in the Thicket—with him—is bringing it all back. We had our whole future ahead of us, you know? It was going to be perfect. He was the most popular boy at school, the football quarterback, the head of the honor society. I was voted most likely to win Miss Tennessee one day, and Brooks was gonna go to UT and then take over his daddy’s law business, and it was like… we had it all. When we were crowned Mr. and Ms. Licking Thicket that year…” She sighed. “I just thought it meant something.” I moved over to sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “It did mean something, sweetie. It meant you had a big future ahead of you. That doesn’t mean it had to be a future together. The man is gay. Even if he hadn’t come out, you would have been miserable if the two of you had gotten married.” She rolled her eyes again. It was a favorite reaction of hers. “He’s not gay. Give me a break, Mal. We dated for years. I’d know. Plus, the man’s never brought a boy home before, and when he does, the guy is clearly straight.” I laughed at her. “He’s gay, Ava. I promise.”
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After enjoying creative writing as a child, Lucy didn’t write her first novel until she was over 40 years old. Her debut novel, Borrowing Blue, was published in the autumn of 2016. Lucy has an English Literature degree from Vanderbilt University, but that doesn’t hold a candle to the years and years of staying up all night reading tantalizing novels on her own. She has three children, plays tennis, and hates folding laundry. While her husband is no shmoopy romance hero, he is very good at math, cooks a mean lasagne, has gorgeous eyes, looks hot in his business clothes, and makes her laugh every single day.
Lucy hopes you enjoy sexy heroes as much as she does. Happy reading!
May is an M/M author who lives in Boston. She spends her days raising three incredibly sarcastic children, finding inventive ways to drive her husband crazy, planning beach vacations, avoiding the gym, reading M/M romance, and occasionally writing it. She also writes MF romance as Maisy Archer.
She popped a piece into her mouth and shoved the crumpled-up foil in my pocket. “He didn’t look very good, did he?” If we hadn’t been such close friends, I might not have known who she was talking about. But I’d spent years hearing about Brooks Johnson in excruciating detail. “Uh… I feel like there’s no good way to answer that.” He’d looked damned good to me. Until I’d realized who he was, of course. Then he’d looked like the wretched warted monster that he so obviously was. I just hadn’t realized wretched warted monsters could be so damned sexy. My bad. “His hair was all…” “Golden?” I suggested without thinking. Since I was busy putting my clothes away amongst the binoculars and other secret agent gadgets in the little wooden chest opposite the futon, I wasn’t paying much attention to her babbling. “Dull and lifeless. He needs a conditioning treatment, honestly. And I don’t say that easily. Also… his body was like…” “Cut? Ripped? Chiseled?” I tried not to drool since there wasn’t a bathroom in the “guest suite” for me to use to wash my face. “Kind of pudgy.” She said the last word in a whisper as if she’d been talking about a neighbor’s chlamydia. I snapped my head up to glare at her. “Listen, babe. I love you. You know that. But I will not condone lying in this…” I looked around at the cobwebby space. “House.” She rolled her eyes and lay back on the cushion with a huff. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that a big cloud of dust didn’t come out with the impact. Lord only knew how long that futon had been out here. I’d convinced Ava to steal three sets of sheets for it to create a thick barrier between me and whatever mites had made a sweet home in the thing over the years, but it still gave me the heebie-jeebies. I glanced at her. “Why do you even care? I thought we were over him.” “We were. We are.” She didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just…” I lifted a brow at her, and she threw up her hands. “It’s just… being in the Thicket—with him—is bringing it all back. We had our whole future ahead of us, you know? It was going to be perfect. He was the most popular boy at school, the football quarterback, the head of the honor society. I was voted most likely to win Miss Tennessee one day, and Brooks was gonna go to UT and then take over his daddy’s law business, and it was like… we had it all. When we were crowned Mr. and Ms. Licking Thicket that year…” She sighed. “I just thought it meant something.” I moved over to sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “It did mean something, sweetie. It meant you had a big future ahead of you. That doesn’t mean it had to be a future together. The man is gay. Even if he hadn’t come out, you would have been miserable if the two of you had gotten married.” She rolled her eyes again. It was a favorite reaction of hers. “He’s not gay. Give me a break, Mal. We dated for years. I’d know. Plus, the man’s never brought a boy home before, and when he does, the guy is clearly straight.” I laughed at her. “He’s gay, Ava. I promise.”
