Book Title: Happy Holidays! The Charlie Barnes Experience, Volume 1
Author: C.R. Barnes
Publisher: Beach Book Press
Release Date: July 11, 2024
Genre: Humor/Satire with M/M romance
Tropes: Fake relationship, Lovers to enemies
Themes: Irreverent Humor, Friendship, Loyalty, Moral Ambiguity, Writer’s Block
Heat Rating: 2 flames (the main characters do have sex a few times but there are no graphic descriptions)
Length: 54 000 words/167 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Universal Link
Available anywhere books are sold, as well as digital library services.
How I Went from Failed Writer to Drug Mule, and Back, Without Really Trying
Blurb
After a shocking event on Halloween night, Charlie Barnes is back in the news for all the wrong reasons. On the bright side, he meets handsome cop Luke. Luke of the blue eyes, perfect nose, beautiful butt cheeks, and, unbeknownst to Charlie, ulterior motives.
Even bad publicity can be good for book sales, according to Charlie’s publisher, who promptly moves up the deadline for his next book. A book he hasn’t started due to a crushing case of writer’s block. Or perhaps he’s just lazy, it’s hard to tell with Charlie.
He’s got a month to write his next book, decide if Luke is for real, and figure out what to do about the suitcase full of drugs he abandoned at the airport. The pressure is on and the ride is about to get bumpy.
“Wake up Dorothy,” Smack, Smack, these words and two gentle slaps on my face. The first thing I recognize as I come to. Blood is oozing from various parts of my face. Second recognition – the hand slapping me belongs to a cop. Standing over me, gorgeous, even through a swollen eye.
Lying in the street. Not the street exactly. A parking lot, but I’m close to the street. Which means every asshole in a car gets to drive by and laugh. My third recognition. How lovely.
It’s raining again, more like misting. A mist is enough.
I’m lying there, wet, bloody, wearing a powder-blue gingham dress, ruby red slippers and bows in my hair. I have a stuffed dog Velcro’d to my side… or I did. Getting the picture?
Flash… memory of a fist driving hard into my face. Flash…next memory of a boot slamming into my ribs… the ones I broke last May. One last flash, and crunch, as the same boot crushes the bridge of my nose… the source of all this blood pouring out onto everything. Thank God I finally blacked out. Ever tried to fight on wet pavement in size 13 patent leather Mary Janes? Tricky.
Here’s this cop… this beautiful strapping paragon of manhood… standing over me. Slapping me, saying, as a southern cop says, “Wake up Door – Ahh – theee,” smack, smack.
Love at first blurred sight.
“Auntie em… Auntie em…,” I sigh as I look… or try to look… into his big ice-blue cop’s eyes. Hell no, I’m not dropping out of character. He sees I’m back and I see a smile splash across his face.
It’s a struggle to stand up… he helps. My dress is a mess, twisted you might say. My hero helps me get the damn thing back in place, covering my bits and bobbles. Miracles all around.
He speaks again, still smiling, “Looks like the Wicked Witch had her way with you.” How nice, a sense of humor.
“You should see the other bitch.” Blood and flecks of… something… spray into the air. He steps back, the smile vanishes.
“Sorry” I spray again and start to wobble on my feet.
He reaches out, the hero once more, “Sit down and wait for the ambulance, it’ll be here any minute.”
“Ambulance? I don’t need no stinkin’ ambulance.” Trying to sound butch, but wearing a dress. Damnit. What a cliché, wear a dress for Halloween and I’m about to be carted off to the hospital. No way, not this cowboy.
“Look…” he starts.
Then an interruption.
“Uh-uh, honey, you may be fine to look at but you are not takin’
my Dorothy off in an ambulance like some piece of meat.”
At last, it’s my Good Witch Glinda, (aka BeeBee), come to save me.
Where the hell was he five minutes ago?
Here he comes, not walking, striding, through the parking lot.
The crowd of gawkers parts like the sea before Moses, his white gown, yes, he made it himself, and yes calling it a dress is a crime, his white gown flowing behind him and a fabulous headdress looking more like a weapon every minute. This is not his first adventure in drag.
“Honey you are not taking my Dorothy away like a pack of flying monkeys. You call them people back and tell ‘em you don’t need what they’re sellin’.”
He’s fallen back on his accent, waving his hand, he’s a sight to behold and hear. BeeBee is six foot-six, with the body of a marble statue and the attitude of a Mother Superior. When he gets worked up, you best watch yourself.
Born on St. Thomas to a white businessman father and Caribbean night club singer, he managed to inherit the best of both parents, with most of the best coming from his mother.
He’s fierce, even out of drag. But tonight, he’s taken it up a few notches. White sequined gown, most of the front removed to reveal washboard abs, and pecks to make a girl jealous. Cocoa-butter-creamy- smooth skin and of course there’s the package. Tonight, there’s nothing at all discreet about this outfit. The package is truly awe inspiring.
C.R. “Charlie” Barnes studied literature and journalism in college and went to work for a global news organization immediately after graduation. During his time there, the team won a pile of awards and Charlie was on his way to a low-paying, high-stress career in a business he didn’t love. He now spends his time writing fiction because the news was never good, and one thing Charlie likes is a good time. Or at least not a bad time.
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