Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway:
Forever, Con Amor by A.M. Johnson

For Him, Book 4

Chance,

I never in a million years thought I would want a guy who smells like a tree and probably hugs them on the daily, but alas, you’ve somehow snuck your sexy, khaki-covered ass into my life. It doesn’t help that we’re stuck living in this apartment together for God knows how long, but I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. I know I said it was one and done, and maybe that’s the smart thing to do since I’m not convinced of your emotional availability. Maybe I’m a masochist. Or, maybe I might kind of like you. I said what I said.

No regrets, Marcos~

***

Marcos,

Your ability to simultaneously compliment and insult me is probably one of my favorite things about you. I think it’s part of your charm. Does that make me a masochist as well? I definitely like to torture myself. The night I kissed you, I knew it had the potential to push you away, but I couldn’t stop myself from wanting you. I still can’t. You can flirt and bully me all you like. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve finally found my home, and it’s here. And just in case you need me to be more specific, I like you too.

Forever, con amor…

Chance~

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“Need some help?” I asked and Parker lifted his gaze, giving me a wide smile.

“I think we have it handled unless you want to take over for Marcos. He’s been complaining about his damn nails since we started.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.” Marcos flashed his pale blue glittered nails in his friend’s face. “These fingers are too precious for manual labor.”

“Manual labor?” Parker rolled his eyes. “I don’t think your beloved manicure will be harmed if you prep a few green beans.”

“Have you seen your nails?” he asked and despite myself I chuckled. Marcos eyed me, and like always, his scrutinizing gaze picked me apart. “What are you laughing at?” He assessed me and frowned. “Are you going to an alligator hunting exhibition?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

I had on khaki cargo shorts and a green t-shirt.

“Honey, I know. That’s the problem.”

“Ignore him.” Parker shot his friend a dirty look. “He’s on one today.”

“When isn’t Marcos on one?” Jake, one of the kids, asked as he shut the refrigerator. “It’s kind of his thing.”

“Thank you,” Marcos said, crossing his legs just as his dark messy curls fell over his left brow.

He had on a multi-colored band t-shirt, and white cut-off shorts that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but he pulled it off. He wasn’t overly thin or fragile-looking by any means. His tall body was cut with lean muscle in all the right places, with legs for days and…

Shit. I realized I was staring at him and focused on Parker instead, as he said, “I don’t think that’s a good thing.” He grinned and Marcos kicked him under the table.

“Don’t act like you don’t love my colorful personality, mijo.”

“That’s kind of patronizing,” I said before thinking better of it. “The term mijo, I mean. It’s not usually used among peers.”

Marcos made a show of raising his hand to his chest and gasped. “It isn’t? I had no idea.” He batted his thick lashes. “I’m well aware and obviously being sarcastic. But thank you, gringo, for teaching me how to speak my own language. Next time, I’ll just call him sweet pea, so everyone understands my understated condescension.”

A few of the kids snickered quietly while Parker stared at his friend with what could only be described as abject horror.

“Christ, Marcos…”

Marcos’s barbs were usually thrown in my direction. I was used to it. He always found something wrong with the clothes I wore, or how I’d chosen to groom myself. Why the guy felt it was his mission to insult me on a daily basis was beyond me. He’d started volunteering here last year, which I thought might’ve been under Parker’s persuasion. His little jabs didn’t bother me most of the time, but maybe after what I’d just said, I kind of deserved his ire.

“Lo siento. No quiería ofenderte. Estoy aprendiendo Español.”

Marcos’s smirk returned as he stood. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“What did he say?” Jake asked and Parker shrugged.

“No idea.”

“He said he was sorry he was such a white boy, but he’ll do better next time.” Marcos slipped his feet into the pair of overly strappy sandals sitting by his chair.

“Not an accurate translation, but yeah, basically,” I said and ran my hand over my beard. “I am sorry though. Most of my Spanish was learned from working in Costa Rica and Venezuela. I’m lucky if I ever say what I really mean half the time.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I could take you seriously in any language, if we’re being honest… I mean, the nineties called and they want their skater boy sneakers back.”

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About the Author:

Amanda is an award winning and best selling author of LGBTQIA and contemporary romance and fiction. She lives in Utah with her family where she moonlights as a nurse on the weekends and hikes in the mountains as much as possible.

If she’s not busy with her three munchkins, you’ll find her buried in a book or behind the keyboard where she explores the human experience through the written word, exploring all spectrums and genres.

She’s obsessed with all things Hockey, Austen, and Oreos, and loves to connect with readers!

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