Hi peeps, we have Jane Davitt stopping by today with her new re-release Gambling on Love, we have a brilliant guest post, a great excerpt and a fantastic giveaway! So guys, check out the post and leave a comment to enter the giveaway! <3 ~Pixie~
Gambling On Love
When Gary and Abe came out to each other in their final year of high school, a longstanding friendship turned into a new love. Keeping their feelings a secret was easy until a coach caught them together in the locker room, and their fragile relationship shattered around them. Panicked, angry, and rejected by his mother, Gary fled town, breaking Abe’s eighteen-year-old heart.
Eleven years later Gary returns just as unexpectedly, crashing into Abe’s truck during a blizzard. He’s as arrogant and stubborn as ever—and just as irresistible. Time has changed them both in ways they never imagined, but the heat that flares between them is enough to thaw any ice.
While Abe discovers what Gary did to survive in the city, Gary realizes that Abe has grown into a man with needs to match his own, and they fall in love all over again. But Gary’s determination to carry out one final order from the rich, older man he lived with—and obeyed—for years means that a dead man’s plans might split them apart again . . . this time for keeps.
Publisher’s note: This title is an edited second edition, previously published in 2011.
The foreword to Patrick Rothfuss’s ‘The Slow Regard of Silent Things’ opens with “You might not want to buy this book.”
I could say the same for ‘Gambling on Love’. If you’re looking for a twisty plot, you won’t find it here. Shapeshifters, vampires, werewolves or zombies? Not a mention. Secondary characters? Few and far between. (Though the bartender in one scene haunts me. I want to know why he’s in that small town bar. One day, I’ll ask him.) Your next book boyfriend? Probably not Gary or Abe. It isn’t that kind of romance.
So what is ‘Gambling on Love’? It’s a snowbound-in-the-cabin reunion love story . . . but it’s also my gamble on subverting the standard tropes and expected “beats” of romance, and it turned out to be akin to drawing on an inside straight: risky as hell. The story spans one week in the lives of two men—a week in which they experience the kind of stuff that might happen to any of us. Assuming we were holed up in a cabin with an ex from hell who’s fresh from whoring his ass to an old man (from Abe’s perspective) or with the stuck-in-a-rut hottie from high school who’s gone nowhere, done nothing, and doesn’t seem interested in changing that (Gary’s view on the situation).
It isn’t insta-love; Gary and Abe fell in love as teenagers, but their lives have taken them on such different paths since then that they struggle to find their connection again. And these men are not traditional hero material. Gary has spent many of his post-high-school years traveling the world as a billionaire’s “personal assistant” and sex toy, and makes no apology for that; Abe is fairly comfortable living an aimless, ambition-free life, doing odd jobs in the same small town where he and Gary grew up. They are only able to solve some of their differences by getting naked and sweaty and playing bedroom dominance games.
There’s a trouble-making ex, which is a pretty standard trope element, sure. But this one’s dead, so how much trouble can he cause? (Quite a lot, as it turns out, but no spoilers).
So to sum up, if you want to try the odds with some unconventional heroes, who don’t know how the “snowed in at the cabin” script is supposed to go, buy this book. Take a gamble! If you like it, you won. If you didn’t…well, that’s why the book’s not called ‘The Sure Thing’.
Because love is a gamble. Love means risking your happiness. Exposing yourself physically and emotionally. And if you’re lucky, you hit the jackpot . . . like Gary and Abe.
And yes, it has a happy ending. I hit that beat.
Gary closed the gap between them with two long strides across the slippery floor and took a kiss to hide the fact he couldn’t come up with a single coherent sentence. Abe’s skin was hot and damp under his hands, muscles pumped, cock thick and hard. Abe kissed him back with more aggression than normal—passion fueled by nerves, Gary guessed. He felt the same way. This was risky—but that made it tempting.
“Over there.” Abe showed more discretion than Gary was capable of. “In the washroom. If someone comes in, we’ll hear the door open. You can stay in the stall and I’ll say I was changing.”
Gary’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’m not blowing you in there.” The toilet stank and the floor was wet and covered with soaked scraps of toilet paper. “I’ll hide in there if I have to, but I’m not kneeling in piss and dirty water. Over by the wall and give me your towel to kneel on.”
Abe bit his lip but Gary reached down, his hand getting busy. A squeeze and a promise, and Abe groaned, rocking his hips, his dick sliding through the tunnel of Gary’s hand. “Okay, okay. We’ve got to be quick, though.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Gary kept his voice down once he’d dropped to his knees. Voices echoed oddly in the locker room, bouncing off the tiled walls, and it made him edgy. “I’ll jerk off later. I want to spend the rest of the afternoon tasting you every time I swallow.”
“You’re so fucking kinky.” Abe shut up, his back against the wall, clutching Gary’s shoulders.
Gary sighed happily and got to work, his plans to make this quick and dirty lost in the pleasure of feeling his mouth stretched wide, the circle of his lips conforming to the shape of Abe’s cock. They’d done this often enough now that gagging was a thing of the past—mostly—and it’d been ages since either of them had yelped, sensitive skin scored by sharp teeth.
He let Abe control the blowjob at first, accepting each thrust with nothing more than an encouraging hum while he waited for Abe’s nervousness to quiet down. He saw his hands, fingers spread wide, on Abe’s thighs, but they looked unfamiliar, as if they belonged to someone else. The thought of another boy touching Abe always made him feel sick and lost, so he closed his eyes and moved his hands. One slid down to cradle Abe’s balls, damp and hot from the shower; the other, he wrapped around the base of Abe’s cock. Sometimes Abe went too deep, leaving the back of Gary’s throat bruised. He didn’t mind, but today he wanted to be the one in charge. He’d set this up, after all, persuading Abe to play along. He should be the one who got to conduct the orchestra. Besides, he preferred it that way, and he suspected Abe did too. They hadn’t been best friends for nine years for nothing, and Gary knew when Abe wanted him to take the lead.
He could smell the faintly antiseptic tang of the soap Abe had used—taste it too, at first—but under the flat taste of water and soap, Abe’s natural scent was still there, ready to be coaxed out with each lap of Gary’s tongue. He loved making Abe gasp and choke out his name, certain in the moment, if not the aftermath, that Abe wanted him, needed him.
They weren’t only friends now. Awareness of each other’s bodies colored everything between them. Gary could get half-hard seeing Abe’s jacket slung across a chair in the cafeteria, remembering how they’d used it as a blanket the weekend before. He existed in a haze of arousal focused on Abe. His porn, what there was of it, lay forgotten, hidden in his closet. He didn’t need it now. All he needed to get off was a memory of Abe.
He sometimes missed the way they had talked, saying nothing much and taking a thousand words to say it, or the hours spent listening to music together, the beat of the drums and the scream of a guitar or a singer working its way under his skin until it was part of him. Now, when they were behind a closed door, they were kissing, not talking. Kissing until Gary’s lips felt numb, rubbery, his chin scraped raw from Abe’s stubble. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t get enough of Abe’s mouth, moving against his slowly, or the flick and thrust of Abe’s tongue.
They knew there was more they could do to each other, but without discussing it much, they stuck to what was easy and didn’t require shoplifting. Neither of them could buy condoms or lube from anywhere local without word getting out, so stealing was their only option, and Abe wouldn’t let Gary risk it. Abe’s dad didn’t use condoms—he’d had a vasectomy years before—so their options were limited if they wanted to stay safe. And they did. They figured they’d have time to explore those other options after high school. Lately they’d both started talking about when, not if. When we’re in our own place. When we can fall asleep afterward every night.
He still hadn’t told Abe he loved him. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but he’d never been so dependent on someone before. It scared him, but not enough to make him want to back away. He only wanted more.
Gary closed off his thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. He had another class before he could go home, and he would spend it with his body tense, thrumming with arousal. He liked making himself wait to climax sometimes, tormenting himself with a denial that was more pleasure than pain. Abe had once pinned him down to the bed and told him not to come, grinning because he knew how close Gary was. He’d come before Abe finished speaking, not because his dick was wet from Abe’s mouth, but from the kick of being ordered not to, though he hadn’t shared that with Abe. It was the idea of it, the whole scenario, that set him off . . . and the thought of making Abe wait like that sometime. Some of the thoughts in his head were too out-there to share, too confused to put into words. Even Gary didn’t always know what he wanted until it was happening.
Like now. He was on his knees, but he’d planned it that way. What did that make him, top or bottom? The only certainty was that something in the mix got him hot.
He drew back and teased the head of Abe’s dick with the tip of his tongue before rubbing his cheek against it, getting off on how slutty he must look. Judging by his throaty groan, Abe liked the view.
Fluid was slick over the crown of Abe’s dick, and it wasn’t all spit. He was nearly there. If Gary put Abe’s dick back into his mouth and sped up the bob of his head, he’d get what he wanted.
He settled himself more comfortably on the towel, losing himself in his self-imposed rhythm, mercilessly driving Abe toward his climax.
“Jesus H. Christ!”
Abe cried out, startled, panicked, and Gary jerked around, his wet mouth popping loudly and lewdly off Abe’s cock.
Coach Dyer stood a few yards away, his face blank with shock, but already twisting into a pained grimace.
Gary’s hand was still on Abe’s cock. He felt it jerk and soften, a balloon losing its air. Fuck. Fuck. Five minutes. That was all they’d needed. Less.
“Get dressed, Carter.” Coach’s voice was flat with disapproval and disgust. “You’re both coming with me to see the principal. And not one smart word outta you, Stratton. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Coach, please don’t,” Abe begged, his voice unsteady. He pushed Gary’s hand aside and moved past him, his hands dropping to cover himself. “Don’t. We’re sorry. It was one time. It’ll never happen again, I swear.”
“I expected better than this from you.” Dyer shook his head. “For God’s sake, Stratton, get up. And Carter, put on some goddamned clothes before I throw up.”
It was one time.
Gary stared at the tiles in front of him, white with dark cracks running across some of them. He rose and put his hand on the wall to balance him as a bleak dizziness swept over him. He’d stood too fast, that was all. It wasn’t because Abe had left him, hurrying into his clothes without a backward glance.
It stayed with him when they walked along the empty hallways, the coach behind them, silent now, unhappy, as if he knew what he had to do but didn’t like doing it.
They wouldn’t get expelled for sex on school property—if the administration stuck with that policy, the classes would be half-empty after every prom—and they were both over eighteen, so he couldn’t see that being much of an issue. It wasn’t as if it’d been the coach blowing Abe, after all. Shit, he couldn’t think about that. It made him want to laugh, and he didn’t need to go into Principal Warren’s office fighting a giggle fit.
Word would get out, though. It always did. They’d be outed, with a month of school to endure, and the gossip wouldn’t end when they graduated.
He gave Abe a sidelong glance, hating how Abe averted his face. It didn’t take a Sherlock to work out Abe was ashamed of them and what they’d done, what they were.
One time . . . It had practically been the first thing out of Abe’s mouth. As if everything they’d shared over the past eight months—and everything they’d talked about sharing in the future—didn’t matter at all.
It was over. No matter what happened after they walked past Mrs. Gilroy’s desk and into the principal’s office, what he had with Abe was over.
That made him so miserably angry, nothing else registered. Not the principal’s icy lecture—not focused on the fact they were guys, surprisingly, but on the school rules they’d broken. Not the spitefully smug look on Debbie Gilroy’s face when they emerged ten minutes later. She went to church with Gary’s mom, and he knew she’d been eavesdropping and would be on the phone within minutes, spreading the news. In confidence, of course, to her closest friends, because they ought to know. Not gossip, at all.
More than any other face, it was hers Gary saw when he packed what he needed that night and prepared to leave town. Debbie Gilroy represented everything he hated about the place he’d lived all his life. Petty, small-minded, endlessly inquisitive . . .
His mother was at church, praying for a son she could love, most likely. He passed her empty bedroom on the way to the stairs and didn’t spare it a glance. When she’d come home from work, he’d thrown his confession at her like a stone, telling her he was gay before she could bring up hearing it from anybody else. There had been no flicker of surprise on her face at the news, but there had been no emotion in her eyes for years.
And later that night, there was no doubt in Abe’s eyes when he refused point-blank to leave town with Gary. Then Abe had started crying. Gary hadn’t bothered hanging around to hear his excuses.
Read more at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/gambling-on-love (just click the excerpt tab)
Jane Davitt is English, and has been living in Canada with her husband, two children, and two cats, since 1997. Writing and reading are her main occupations but if she ever had any spare time she might spend it gardening, walking, or doing cross stitch. She’s recently taken up yoga and loves discovering her ability to bend.
Jane has been writing since 2002 and wishes she’d started earlier. She is a huge fan of SF, fantasy, erotica, and mystery novels and has a tendency to get addicted to TV shows that get cancelled all too soon.
She owns over 4,000 books, rarely gives any away, but is happy to loan them, and is of the firm opinion that there is no such thing as “too many books.”
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