Book Title: Spanish Siesta (Flying into Love #2)
Author and Publisher: C F White
Cover Artist: Kelly Martin (KAM Design)
Release Date: July 29, 2022
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Tropes: Friends to Lovers
Themes: Bisexual awakening, forced proximity, coming out
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 65 250 words/260 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Universal Link
Can a Spanish siesta make Matt see his best friend the way Kieran’s been hoping he would for years?
Blurb
Matt Robinson just got dumped. Again. With his sister’s wedding on the horizon, he needs a plus one.
Kieran Barker has been in love with his straight best friend for far too long. It’ll never happen. Having already been left behind when Matt went to university, Kieran can’t take more heartbreak.
So when Matt invites Kieran to spend a whole week with him on the island of Majorca, Kieran can’t let himself think there’s more to it than lads on tour. All he can do is play the field to take his mind of the hot, rugby honed body of his oldest mate. Sexy men are in abundance in Magaluf, right? Matt only wants to cop off with the bridesmaid anyway.
But when Matt’s overprotectiveness about Kieran’s late-night escapades borders on jealousy, can he even dare to think that there’s more to their years of flirtations than simple bromance?
And can Matt really acknowledge his feelings when they’ll soon be returning to England, with him back to the university rugby team and two hundred miles away from Kieran.
Spanish Siesta (Flying into Love #2) is a Contemporary, Friends to Lovers, Bisexual Awakening, Forced Proximity MM Romance featuring a hot-headed rugby Fly-Half struggling with his emotions and an out-and-proud wannabe dancer suffering from unrequited love.
“No twin rooms,” Matt said.
Kieran nodded, slipping his mobile onto the desk. “I don’t touch.”
“What?”
“I don’t touch when I share a bed. If that’s your worry.”
“No.” Matt exhaled a laugh. “No, it’s just, well, no one likes sharing a bed, do they?”
“Don’t they?”
“Do you?”
Kieran shrugged. “Depends who it’s with. I mean, if it’s Harry Styles, I might lift the no-touching rule.”
“Prick.” Matt laughed. “He your type, is he?”
Kieran didn’t answer that and instead unzipped his bag and rifled inside.
“It’s me,” Matt called over the rummaging.
“What’s you?” Kieran transferred his clothes into drawers, flapping out shirts and T-shirts that his mum had obviously ironed yet he’d shoved into a too-small bag and creased anyway.
“That you’re sharing a bed with.”
Kieran paused. Then stood, clutching a wash bag. They stared at each other across the room for a while and Matt’s chest gripped him, squeezed him, suffocated him. What did he want from this? What was he expecting Kieran to say? Why was he even asking the question? Had it even been a question? And why…why was this all so weird. They’d known each other forever. They’d shared a bed before.
Except, this felt different.
“Do you have a no touching rule?” Kieran asked.
“It’s more a guideline.”
“Noted.” Kieran threw over his wash bag and Matt caught it. “Go put that away, then let’s soak up some rays.”
Matt smiled. So did Kieran. And for that moment, everything fell into place. Everything felt right. How it had always been. The two of them. Here. Now. So Matt lurched toward him, bending forward and rugby-tackled him.
“What the—” Kieran didn’t put up too much of a protest. He might have added muscle since Matt had last seen him, he might have grown an inch, he might have developed a better reaction time. But he was still Kieran. And he fell onto the bed with an oomph, hair draping into his eyes.
Matt stepped back, grinning. “Come on, you gotta do better than that.”
Kieran blew his hair away, sliding up onto his elbows. He narrowed his eyes. Matt arched an eyebrow. Two seconds too long and Kieran hauled himself up, but Matt had clocked the move and he bowed his head, ramming it into Kieran’s chest. Not too hard, mind. He wasn’t on the pitch. But enough to wind him and knock him back to the bed. This time, though, Kieran did put up a fight, wrapping his legs around him in the hope to flip him over. And those legs were dancer’s legs. Strong legs. And they dug into Matt as he tried to pin him flat. Matt had to go illegal move on him, and grabbed his wrists, slamming them behind his head.
“Pinned.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as the hoarse growl it had. It was just his breath had caught.
Kieran’s legs fell and the fight slipped out of him as he held Matt’s gaze, chest rising and falling in shallow pants, and those eyes looked at him. Looked through him.
“Nutella swirls,” fell from Matt lips before he could stop himself.
“What?”
Matt cleared his throat, rolling off Kieran. “I’m fucking starving.”
Kieran stroked his hair back, clambering to sit. “You wanna go find something to eat?” he asked, almost hesitantly. As though he wasn’t sure what had happened.
Neither was Matt. All he knew was he needed to escape. Because his dick had swelled.
“Sure.” Matt rolled off the bed. “Need a shower first though.” He then rushed around the bed, fishing out his wash bag from his luggage, and headed into the bathroom.
After switching on the shower, he stared at his reflection in the mirror and told himself what he’d been telling himself for a while now.
It’s curiosity.
That was all this was.
Brought up in a relatively small town in Hertfordshire, C F White managed to do what most other residents try to do and fail—leave.
Studying at a West London university, she realised there was a whole city out there waiting to be discovered, so, much like Dick Whittington before her, she never made it back home and still endlessly search for the streets paved with gold, slowly coming to the realisation they’re mostly paved with chewing gum. And the odd bit of graffiti. And those little circles of yellow spray paint where the council point out the pot holes to someone who is supposedly meant to fix them instead of staring at them vacantly whilst holding a polystyrene cup of watered-down coffee.
Eventually she moved West to East along that vast District Line and settled for pie and mash, cockles and winkles and a bit of Knees Up Mother Brown to live in the East End of London; securing a job and creating a life, a home and a family.
After her second son was born with a rare disability, C F White’s life changed and it brought pen back to and paper after having written stories as a child but never had the confidence to show them to the world. Now, having embarked on this writing journey, C F White can’t stop.
So strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Author Links
Twitter @CFWhiteUK | Facebook | Blog
Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up
