Book Title: The Party Plot
Author and Publisher: Emily Spady
Cover Artist: Morganically_Sourced
Release Date: May 7, 2025
Tense/POV: third person past tense, alternating POV
Genres: Contemporary MM Romance
Tropes: Enemies-to-lovers, small town romance, forced proximity, second chance, no third-act breakup
Themes: Self-acceptance, friendship, party planning
Heat Rating: 3-4 flames
Length: 75 569 words/323 pages
It is a standalone story, but takes place in the same universe as my other books.
It does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links – Available for Pre-Order
A chaotic good boy and a sexy con man clash in this m/m romantic comedy about small-town drama, Southern manners, and being true to oneself.
Blurb
When Laurel Van Marcke comes home for the summer, he’s immediately thrown back into all the scandals, grudges, and petty gossip he wanted to avoid. But he was expecting that. What he wasn’t expecting was Casey Bright, his mom’s new party planner, who also happens to be the mystery man he spent an unforgettable night with three months ago. But something about Casey, and the whole situation, seems off, and Laurel needs this party to go off without a hitch.
Casey has his own agenda for the upcoming Halloween ball, one that doesn’t include Laurel. He wants nothing to do with the spoiled little rich boy, and definitely doesn’t want to get entangled with him again. But Laurel is persistent, and soon, he’s involved himself not only in the party planning, but in all the most intimate aspects of Casey’s life. And Casey absolutely despises him for it… right?
One thing is for sure, the first annual Halloween Ball will be the event of the year—one way or another.
The Party Plot is an m/m enemies-to-lovers romance featuring elaborate schemes, a few raccoons, several cheesy Halloween props, and a HEA.
“Pull over,” Casey said. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
“Oh, right. Because you’re such a voice of reason.” Laurel swiped at his hair angrily, again not managing to push it back. “Lying to everyone, laughing behind their backs. You think you’re better than us, but you’re not, you know that? Being a liar doesn’t make you different or special, it just—”
“And what about you?” Casey asked. His hands were sweaty on the edge of his seat, and now he wasn’t watching the road either, because let’s be honest, if Laurel drove this fucking luxury vehicle that probably cost more than Casey’s entire existence into a ditch, he could just laugh it off and get a new one. There were no consequences for people like him, ever. “You’re some paradigm of honesty?”
“Paragon,” Laurel said, like he couldn’t help himself. “Paragon of honesty.”
“Fucking seriously?” Casey could feel a vein ticking in his temple. He wanted to stuff paragon and all of Laurel’s other five thousand damn SAT words back down his throat. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, you know. And you’ve been hiding big chunks of your life from your mom, pretending to be the perfect son when—”
“Don’t.” Laurel’s face drained of color. “Don’t you dare. You don’t understand.”
“I think I understand too well, Laurel. You’re just as fake as me.” Casey hit the button for the hazard lights, his palm tingling. He grabbed Laurel’s wrist. “Pull over, or I’ll make you. I’m going to drive.”
Laurel let out a groan of frustration and swerved onto the shoulder, hitting the brakes so hard that the car nearly skidded out. The windows rattled and Casey’s teeth clacked together as gravel sprayed up from the wheels, pinging against the Land Rover’s underbelly. His heart was fluttering in his chest like a moth in a jar, and his tendons, his veins, felt like live wires as he tried to pry the keys out of Laurel’s hand.
Laurel wouldn’t let go, and Casey was undoing his seatbelt and leaning across the center console. He had Laurel’s wrist pinned against the headrest, and his other hand had somehow landed on his thigh. Casey could feel Laurel’s muscle twitch beneath his palm like the flank of a trapped deer, and the hazard lights were clicking on and off in his head, and he didn’t really know who kissed who first, just that Laurel’s lips were suddenly on his.
Laurel’s mouth was sticky-sweet from the cider, hot and decadent as the center of a peach cobbler, and Casey wanted more of it, wanted to kiss his way to the core of him. The horn let out a plaintive bleat as his elbow hit it, and then he was half in the driver’s seat, Laurel already yanking at his belt buckle, and he could feel the blood pounding beneath Laurel’s skin as he ran a hand over his throat, up across his jaw and into the lush thickness of his hair.
“Fuck,” Laurel said into Casey’s mouth, unable to stop talking even now. Casey tugged on his hair a little bit, which made him shudder invitingly, red blooming across his face, lighting up the shells of his ears like neon. His hand was in Casey’s pants, skillful and familiar, stroking him, making trails of light swim behind Casey’s eyes, flowers unfurl in his head, and how he had lied, Casey thought, as he bit into Laurel’s shoulder through his shirt, tasting clean cotton and the tang of his sweat. How he had lied, because of course he hadn’t forgotten him; he’d just put him away for safekeeping, and—
Something was trilling, an annoying, computerized sound. The same monotone female voice from before came over the speakers. “Incoming call.”
“Your mom again?” Casey asked, against the pulse pounding in Laurel’s neck. He wrapped his hand around Laurel’s where it had stilled on his cock, squeezing slightly. His ears were ringing as he said, “Go on, answer it.”
When she is not writing, Emily Spady likes to paint, hike, and, of course, read books. This is her third full-length novel. She lives in the Pacific Northwest of the United States with her husband and cat.
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